THE  SECRET  OF  THE 
SAHARA :  KUFARA 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
RIVERSIDE 


OUft. 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE 
SAHARA  :    KUFARA 

ROSITA  FORBES 


ftOSITA     FORBES 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE 
SAHARA  :  KUFARA 


BY 

ROSITA  FORBES 

Author  of  "Unconducted  Wanderers,"  etc. 


WITH    AN    INTRODUCTION   BY 

SIR  HARRY  JOHNSTON 


WITH  54  ILLUSTRATIONS 
FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS  BY  THE  AUTHOR 


NEW  ^Sr  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    1921, 
BY  GEORGE    H.  DOBAX   COMPAKT 


PRINTED  IJf  THK   UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


TO 
AHMED  MOHAMMED  BEY  HASSANEIN 

IN  MEMORY  OP  HOURS   GRAVE  AND   GAY,   BATTLES 

DESPERATE    OR    HUMOROUS,    OF    SUCCESS 

AND   FAILURE    IN    THE   LIBYAN 

DESERTS 


INTRODUCTION 

BY  SIR  HARRY  JOHNSTON 

THE  OASES  OF  KTJFARA 

VERY  nearly  midway  between  the  great  mountains  of 
Tibesti  (which  rise  to  over  eleven  thousand  feet  in  height) ; 
the  plateaus  of  Fazan;  the  mountainous  'island'  of  the 
Cyrenaica;  the  oases  of  Western  Egypt,  and  of  Dongola; 
lies  the  still  mysterious  region  of  Kufara,  visited  and 
described  by  Mrs.  Rosita  Forbes,  the  author  of  this  book. 

She  has  been  seemingly  the  second  explorer  of  Euro- 
pean birth  to  accomplish  this  feat ;  for  although  the  Kufara 
district  was  first  placed  on  the  map  with  no  great  in- 
correctness of  location  by  Friedrich  Gerhard  Rohlf s,  after 
his  journey  thither  in  1878-9,  he  was — as  Mrs.  Forbes 
shows — the  only  European  of  his  party  to  reach  these 
oases,  and  his  stay  there  was  very  short. 

Apparently  he  only  revealed,  only  realised  by  sight 
or  information  the  salt  lakes  at  Buseima  and  a  rather 
problematical  'Erbelma'  (qy.  Erbayana,  Erbelna?)  to 
the  south-west;  and  either  he  did  not  see,  or  he  did  not 
record  the  more  important  sheets  of  salt  or  brackish  water 
in  the  comparatively  large  Kebabo  oasis  or  collection  of 
oases. 

These  lakes  of  Kebabo  stand  at  an  average  elevation 
of  about  fourteen  hundred  feet  above  sea  level,  an  eleva- 
tion which  was  divined  or  calculated  hurriedly  by  F.  G. 
Rohlfs,  but  more  accurately  determined  by  Mrs.  Forbes 
and  her  Egyptian  fellow-traveller,  Hassanein  Bey.  By 
these  later  figures  the  altitude  above  sea  level  of  the 
Kebabo  Oases  may  prove  to  be  slightly  lower  than  in  the 

vii 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

estimation  of  the  older  maps  (1614  feet).  Still  it  can- 
not be  much  less  on  the  lake  levels  than  fourteen  hundred 
feet;  therefore  in  considering  the  problems  it  is  not  pos- 
sible to  attribute  the  Kebabo  oases,  the  villages  of  Kuf  ara 
to  anything  more  than  the  site  of  a  largish  lake  in  pre- 
historic times  which  sent  its  waters  flowing  west  into  the 
great  Wadi  al  Fardi,  the  course  of  which  seems  to  have 
passed  through  Taiserbo  to  Jaghabub  and  thence  past  the 
oasis  of  Siwa  into  the  Nile  near  Cairo. 

The  Libyan  Desert  through  which  Mrs.  Forbes 
travelled,  starting  from  Cyrenaica  and  returning  to 
Egypt,  is  classed  by  her  and  by  most  other  persons  with 
the  Sahara;  which  properly  speaking  lies  to  the  west  of 
a  long  chain  of  peaks,  ridges,  and  tablelands  grouped  in 
its  central  section  under  the  name  of  'Tibesti',  the  moun- 
tainous country  of  the  Tu,  Teda,  or  Tibu  (Tebu  or  Tubu) 
peoples.  But  it  would  almost  seem  for  reason  of  its 
past  mammalian  fauna  as  though  we  must  distinguish 
between  the  Sahara  and  the  Libyan  Deserts,  just  as  for 
similar  reasons  we  do  not  extend  the  name  of  'Sahara'  to 
cover  the  sandy  and  stony  wastes  of  Arabia.  The  true 
Libyan  Desert — almost  a  more  awful  region  of  desola- 
tion than  the  Sahara  west  of  the  Tibesti  mountains — 
would  seem  in  ancient  human  times,  fifty  thousand,  a 
hundred  thousand,  two  hundred  thousand  years  ago,  to 
have  been  the  western  area  of  the  Nile  basin.  Its  mighty 
rivers,  their  courses  still  traceable,  fed  by  the  almost 
Alpine  range  of  Tibesti,  by  the  vanished  rain  from  the 
plateaus  and  ridges  of  Wanyanga  and  Darfur,  flowed 
towards  the  Nile  between  its  nascent  delta  and  Kordofan. 
Its  mammalian  fauna  and  to  a  lesser  degree  its  flora  dif- 
fered in  some  important  particulars  from  that  of  the 
Sahara  (then  possibly  much  covered  by  shallow  lakes  and 
inland  seas) ;  and  still  more  from  the  beasts  and  trees  of 
true  West  Africa  or  Central  Africa.  The  White 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

Rhinoceros  or  a  nearly  allied  form  of  it  has  left  fossil 
remains  in  Algeria  and  is  still  found  within  the  equatorial 
Nile  basin.  It  has  penetrated  south  along  the  eastern 
side  of  Central  Africa,  but  it  does  not  appear  to  have 
passed  into  the  Congo  basin  or  to  have  reached  the  regions 
south  of  Algeria  or  west  of  Tibesti  and  Darfur.  The 
'Black'  Rhinoceros  with  the  pointed  lip  has  pushed  west- 
ward to  the  lands  round  Lake  Chad  and  into  the  basin  of 
the  Shari,  but  seems  never  to  have  travelled  as  far  west- 
ward as  the  Niger  or  ever  to  have  been  found  in  true 
West  Africa.  No  zebra  or  wild  ass,  so  far  as  we  know, 
ever  left  Algeria  or  the  Nile  basin  to  enter  the  Chad  or 
Congo  regions.  Many  antelopes  have  in  the  near  past 
and  present  ranged  between  Mediterranean  Algeria  on 
the  north-west,  the  equatorial  Nile  basin,  and  southern 
most  Africa,  but  have  not  appeared  in  the  western  half 
of  Africa. 

The  region  therefore  into  which  plunged  the  author 
of  this  book,  with  the  concurrence  and  assistance  of  an 
educated  Egyptian  of  Al  Azhar  University,  has  been  of 
great  interest  to  all  students  of  Africa.  Rohlf s's  visit  had 
almost  become  legendary  and  at  best  its  reports  were  frag- 
mentary and  inconclusive.  The  Kufara  oasis  was  the 
half-way  house  between  the  mysterious  and  recalcitrant 
Negro  kingdom  of  Wadai  and  the  Mediterranean  coast. 
Wadai  was  the  last  of  the  great  Negro  States  of  Central 
Africa  to  come  under  European  supervision  and  control. 
But  even  after  Wadai — to  the  great  benefit  of  North 
Central  Africa — was  conquered  by  the  French,  and  its 
slave  trade  abolished,  the  oasis  of  Kufara  remained  for  a 
few  more  years  a  legendary  district,  perhaps  mainly 
created  by  the  excited  imagination  of  a  thwarted  German 
explorer,  who  had  already  crossed  Africa  from  the  Medi- 
terranean to  the  Benue  and  the  Niger,  but  who  had 
scarcely  penetrated  to  this  secret  land  of  water  and  palm 


x  INTRODUCTION 

trees  in  the  centre  of  the  Libyan  Desert  than  he  had  to 
leave  it. 

We  now  realise  from  the  work  of  Mr.  Harding  King 
in  1913  and  from  Mrs.  Forbes's  book,  with  its  admirable 
photographs  and  both  vivid  and  circumstantial  descrip- 
tions, what  this  series  of  oases,  salt  lakes,  and  underground 
fountains  means  in  the  middle  of  the  Libyan  Desert.  It 
is  one  of  the  vestiges  of  a  formerly  well-watered  country 
ten,  twenty  or  more  thousand  years  ago.  It  was  a  more 
habitable  region  possibly  at  a  distance  in  time  not  ex- 
ceeding five  thousand  years.  To  it  came,  long  ago,  when 
the  intervening  desert  was  much  more  traversable,  clans 
of  the  Tu,  Tebu  or  Tibu  people,  nowadays  the  dominating 
population  of  Fazan  and  Tibesti.  A  few  Tebu — one  or 
two  hundred — still  linger  in  Kufara  on  sufferance,  the 
semi-slaves  of  the  Zwiya  Arabs.  The  author  is  able  to 
give  her  readers  an  admirable  photograph  of  one  of  these 
lingering  Tebu  of  Kufara. 

Who  and  what  are  the  variously  named  Tu,  Teda, 
Tibu,  or  Tebu  tribes?  They  are  seemingly  of  consider- 
able antiquity,  the  Garamantes  of  Herodotos  and  the 
Romans,  the  Tedamansii  of  Claudius  Ptolomseus,  the 
Alexandrian  geographer  of  the  second  century.  They 
represent  one  of  the  numerous  races  between  the  White 
man  and  the  Negro,  but  in  their  purer  and  more  northern 
extension  they  are  a  people  with  a  preponderance  of  white 
man  stock.  The  skin  is  dark-tinted  and  the  hair  has  a 
kink,  a  curl  about  it;  but  the  physiognomy  is  that  of  the 
Mediterranean  peoples,  except  for  the  occasionally  tumid 
lips.  They  do  not  indeed  differ  very  much  in  appear- 
ance, facially,  from  the  Hamitic  peoples  of  North-east 
Africa;  but  their  language  is  utterly  dissimilar.  With 
this  and  that  corruption,  change,  and  deficiency,  it  has 
become  the  speech  of  Bornu  (Kanuri),  Kanem,  Ennedi, 
northern  Darfur,  Tibesti,  Tummo,  and  southern  Fazan. 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

Commerce  even  carries  its  dialects  into  Tripoli.  But  this 
Tibu-Kanuri  group  of  tongues  has  no  discernible  connec- 
tion with  any  other  African  group  and  is  utterly  dissimilar 
in  syntax  and  in  word-roots  from  the  sex-denoting  Hami- 
tic,  Libyan,  Egyptian  and  Semitic  languages  of  North 
and  North-east  Africa.  Neither  does  it  off er  any  point 
of  resemblance  with  the  Nubian  group,  with  the  Niger 
families,  with  Songhai  or  Fulfulde.  It  is  rather  hurriedly 
called  a  'Negro'  tongue,  which  explains  nothing.  There 
seem  to  have  been  many  pre-Aryan,  pre-Semitic,  pre- 
Hamitic  forms  of  speech  generated  by  the  White  man 
in  Europe,  North  Africa  and  Western  Asia,  which,  like 
the  original  language-impulse  of  the  Bantu  and  Semi- 
Bantu,  were  introduced  into  Tropical  Africa  and  sub- 
sequently adopted  by  the  Negro,  who  was  at  all  times  so 
easily  influenced  by  the  White  invader.  The  Tibu  speech 
seems  to  have  been  one  of  the  several  distinct  groups  of 
tongues  (Fula  may  have  been  another)  spoken  in  North 
Africa  before  that  region  was  invaded  from  the  east  by 
the  Hamites  and  from  the  North-west  by  the  Libyans. 
It  was  pushed  southwards  into  Fazan  and  thence  ex- 
tended across  the  Libyan  Desert  to  the  oases  of  Kufara. 
But  though  ranking  themselves  as  'white  men'  or  at 
any  rate  as  a  racial  type  much  above  the  Negro,  the  Tibu 
were  not  quickly  on  the  White  man's  side  in  religion.  The 
ancient  Garamantes  became  Christian  only  a  short  time 
before  the  Moslem  invasion  of  Tripoli ;  and  were  possibly 
not  Islamized  until  the  eleventh  century.  Probably  the 
Tebu  of  Kufara  were  of  some  vaguely  Pagan  faith  when 
their  oases  were  invaded  by  the  Zwiya  Arabs  of  Fazan 
two  or  three  hundred  years  ago.  As  they  only  had  spears 
and  arrows  to  defend  themselves  against  the  invaders  who 
were  armed  with  guns,  they  were  soon  conquered,  semi- 
enslaved,  and  coerced  to  adopt  the  Muslim  faith.  They 
seem  to  have  possessed  camels  of  what  is  known  as  the 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

Teda  or  Tibesti  breed,  taller,  stouter,  clumsier  in  form 
than  the  dromedaries  of  the  north. 

On  this  point  hinges  a  good  deal  of  interesting  argu- 
ment. Was  there  a  native  camel,  a  wild  species  of  the 
genus  Camelm  in  North-east  Africa  before  the  domesti- 
cated camel  was  introduced  from  Arabia  and  Palestine 
into  Africa  at  an  uncertain  period  coincident  with  the 
downfall  of  the  independence  and  glory  of  Ancient  Egypt 
— say  three  thousand  years  ago?  A  wild  camel,  very  near 
in  form  to  the  Arabian  species,  is  found  fossil  and  sub- 
fossil  in  Algeria.  It  must  have  lingered  there  till  the 
arrival  of  Man  who  possibly  aided  in  its  extinction.  Were 
there  wild  camels  similarly  lingering  in  the  Teda,  the 
Tibesti  country  and  in  Somaliland  and  Galaland  down  to 
quite  recent  times?  And  have  they  contributed  to  the 
formation  of  the  domesticated  camel  stock  of  Africa? 

The  Zwiya  conquerors  of  Kufara  opened  up  relations 
with  the  Sudan,  with  Ennedi,  Wadai,  and  Darfur;  and 
on  the  north  with  Cyrene  and  its  Mediterranean  ports. 
Their  oases  obtained  wealth  and  importance  by  becoming 
a  halfway-house  between  Eastern  Europe  and  Central 
Africa,  and  grew  rich  during  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth 
centuries  over  the  trade  in  ivory  and  Negro  slaves.  The 
importance  of  the  Wadai-Kuf ara  road  for  camel  caravans 
increased  greatly  during  the  second  half  of  the  last  cen- 
tury because,  meantime,  Algeria  and  Tunis  had  become 
more  or  less  controlled  by  Europe.  Egypt  was  likewise 
supervised,  constantly  watched  by  European  powers  in 
regard  to  the  Slave  trade.  Even  Tripoli  and  its  sea-faring 
trade  in  slaves  was  hampered  by  surveillance  from  Malta. 

Turkey,  however,  was  left  pretty  much  to  herself  after 
the  Berlin  Conference  of  1878,  for  motives  of  interna- 
tional jealousy.  She  strengthened  her  hold  over  Cyrene 
and  likewise  garrisoned  Crete,  not  far  away.  So  that 
long  after  the  Sudan  slave  trade  had  been  closed  in  all 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

other  directions  by  British  and  French  action  it  remained 
alive  and  active  by  way  of  Wadai-Kufara-and-Benghazi, 
till,  in  1912-1913,  Italy  took  Tripoli  and  Cyrenaica  from 
the  Turks  and  resumed  the  former  protectorate  of  the 
Roman  Empire  in  this  direction. 

Then — as  Mrs.  Forbes  relates — the  followers  of  the 
Senusi  Brotherhood  found  themselves  in  lively  conflict 
with  a  modern-tempered  European  power,  and  had — 
eventually — to  come  to  terms  with  Italy. 

Mrs.  Forbes  tells  us  or  reminds  us  of  the  main  facts 
and  changes  in  Kufara  history:  its  occupation  at  an  un- 
known and  probably  distant  date  by  the  Tibu  people,  who 
may  have  dwelt  there  when  the  surrounding  deserts  were 
much  less  arid,  and  when  the  oases  and  their  lakes  were 
considerably  larger.  They  may  have  been  there  while 
the  Pharaohs  reigned  in  Egypt  and  before  the  domestica- 
tion of  the  camel.  Then  she  alludes  to  the  conquest  and 
occupation  of  Kufara  by  the  Zwiya  Arabs,  who  seem  to 
have  come  from  the  eastern  part  of  Fazan,  especially  an 
oasis  named  Leshkerre.  Before  their  coming  the  Tibu 
inhabitants  seem  to  have  called  'Kufara'  (which  in  Arabic 
means,  'unbelievers',  'heathen')  by  the  name  of  Tazerr; 
and  in  a  valuable  Appendix  the  author  relates  the  subse- 
quent history  of  these  oases  when  they  came  under  the 
influence  of  the  Senusi  dynasty. 

The  statements  in  this  Appendix  may  be  in  all  points 
accurate,  but  it  might  be  interesting  to  the  reader  to  give 
an  alternative  version  derived  from  earlier  French  and 
British  writers.  Some  of  this  information  was  noted 
when  the  present  writer  was  Consul  General  in  Tunis,  and 
had  commenced  studying  the  results  and  aims  of  the  teach- 
ing emanating  from  the  Senusi  confraternity,  his  atten- 
tion having  been  drawn  to  this  movement  in  Muhamma- 
danism  as  far  back  as  the  'eighties  of  the  last  century,  by 
the  influence  of  the  Senusi  missionaries  on  Nigeria. 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

The  first  Senusi  teacher  was  born  at  or  near  Mastagh- 
anem  on  the  coast  of  western  Algeria  towards  the  close 
of  the  eighteenth  century.  He  was  styled — for  short,  as 
he  had  a  wearisome  array  of  names — Muhammad  bin  Ali 
bin  as-Sanusi.  [Because  there  is  no  e  in  the  Arabic  lan- 
guage you  will  find  a  world-wide  conspiracy  to  use  that 
vowel  in  the  transliteration  of  Arab  names.  There  is  like- 
wise no  o,  so  that  o  is  thrust  into  or  before  Arab  names 
of  persons,  countries,  and  mountains  in  their  European 
rendering  with  an  unaccountable  vehemence  of  con- 
trariety]. 

Like  so  many  Arabs  and  Berbers  in  the  history  of 
North  Africa  he  was  a  religious  enthusiast,  and  like  all 
such  in  every  faith  he  was  willing  to  die  or  to  doom  to 
death  in  defence  of  his  unprovable  religious  dogmas.  He 
resorted  to  Fez  for  his  theological  studies  and  worked  at 
the  so-called  university  in  that  Moroccan  city  till  he  was 
past  his  thirtieth  year.  He  then  felt  inspired  to  preach 
reform  in  Islam,  and  to  that  end  set  his  face  westward, 
expounding  his  tenets  first  in  Algeria  (about  to  be  dis- 
tracted by  the  French  entry) ,  then  in  southern  Tunis  and 
Tripoli.  At  last  he  reached  Egypt  and  enrolled  himself 
as  a  student  at  the  great  Muhammadan  university  of  Al 
Azhar  in  Cairo.  But  his  tenets,  when  he  expounded  them, 
were  pronounced  to  be  heretical,  so  he  journeyed  on  to 
Mecca,  seeking  further  instruction. 

At  this  religious  capital  of  Islam  he  met  among  other 
pilgrims  and  enquirers  a  remarkable  personality,  Mu- 
hammad ash-Sharif,  a  Negro  prince  from  Wadai  who  in 
1838  became  supreme  monarch  or  Sultan  of  that  remark- 
able country  in  the  heart  of  Africa.  A  great  friendship 
grew  up  between  the  white-skinned  Berber  (for  though 
claiming  to  belong  to  an  Arab  tribe,  the  first  of  the  Senusi 
leaders  was  obviously  of  Berber  stock)  and  the  black 
skinned  Wadai  prince,  which  affected  for  seventy  years 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

or  more  the  relations  between  the  Senusi  sect  and  the 
central  Sudan.  But  after  the  departure  of  the  Wadai 
prince  the  relations  between  Muhammad  bin  AH  bin  as- 
Sanusi  and  the  authorities  of  Mecca  became  more  and 
more  difficult;  and  though  the  Senusi  leader  founded 
monasteries  in  western  Arabia  he  thought  it  better  to 
leave  that  land  of  orthodoxy  and  return  to  Africa. 

He  settled  first — about  1844 — near  Derna  in  Cyre- 
naica.*  This  region,  once  in  far-back,  pre-historic  times 
a  huge  island,  had,  together  with  Morocco,  become  the 
only  portions  of  North  Africa  where  Islamic  develop- 
ments were  unfettered.  Yet  even  here,  in  the  next 
decade  Turkish  enquiries  (after  the  anxiety  of  the 
Crimean  War  was  over)  irked  the  first  Senusi;  so  that  in 
1855  he  moved  from  the  vicinity  of  Derna  to  Jaghabub, 
an  oasis  on  the  undefined  borderland  between  Egypt  and 
the  Tripolitan  Pashalik.  Hither  he  brought  his  two  sons, 
born  in  1843  and  1845.  They  were  named  Muhammad 
ash-Sharif  and  Muhammad  al  Mahdi,  and  according  to 
most  authorities  Muhammad  ash- Sharif  was  the  elder. 
Mrs.  Forbes,  no  doubt  on  good  authority,  reverses  this 
order  and  puts  forward  the  Second  Senusi — Muhammad 
al  Mahdi — as  the  elder  and  all  along  the  rightful  heir. 

The  story  related  to  me  and  preserved  in  several  books 
is  that  one  day  at  Jaghabub,  not  long  before  his  death  in 
1859,  the  First  Senusi  put  his  young  sons  to  the  following 
test  of  faith.  He  pointed  out  a  tall  palm  tree  near  the 
mosque  and  ordered  them  to  climb  up  it  and  then,  putting 
their  faith  in  God,  to  leap  off  it  to  the  ground.  Muhammad 
ash- Sharif  shrank  from  the  test;  his  younger  brother  had 
faith,  climbed  up  the  tree  to  near  the  fronds,  and  then 
dropped  to  the  ground  and  was  not  hurt.  Him,  there- 
fore, his  father  designated  as  his  eventual  successor. 

Whether  or  not  this  was  a  true  story  and  whether  or 

*  He  is  said  to  have  paid  another  visit  to  Mecca  in  1852. 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

no  the  Second  Senusi  was  the  younger  son  of  the  First, 
he  succeeded  to  his  father's  position,  after  a  short  interval 
of  'regency'  conducted  by  trusty  councillors ;  though  there 
seems  to  have  been  no  ill-feeling  between  the  brothers. 
Under  Muhammad  al  Mahdi,  the  Second  Senusi,  the 
political  movement  took  great  amplitude.  His  emissaries 
spread  far  and  wide  over  Negro  and  Negroid  Africa. 
Houses  of  teaching  and  prayer  were  founded  in  Senegal, 
in  western  Nigeria,  in  Hausaland  and  above  all  through- 
out the  Tibu  countries,  Wadai  and  northern  Darfur,  as 
well  as  in  Fazan,  Tunis,  and  Algeria.  A  little  vague 
hostility  was  shown  towards  France,  but  not  more  than 
towards  Turkish  rule,  and  the  feeling  among  the  Senusiya 
was  rather  in  favour  of  the  British.  When  the  other 
Mahdi,  Muhammad  Ahmad,  the  Dongolese  destroyer  of 
the  Egyptian  Sudan,  strove  to  enter  into  close  relations 
with  Muhammad  al  Mahdi  at  Jaghabub  his  overtures  were 
snubbed  very  distinctly. 

Unknown  to  himself,  no  doubt,  the  Berber  blood  in 
the  Senusi  leader's  veins  ranged  him  against  violent  at- 
tacks on  civilised  states.  He  did  his  utmost  to  prevent 
the  Arab  fanaticism  of  the  Middle  Nile  from  spreading 
to  Egypt,  or  to  Wadai  and  Bornu.  His  growing  in- 
fluence over  Turkish  Africa  attracted  the  interested  at- 
tention of  Abd-al-Hamid,  Sultan  of  Turkey.  In  1889, 
the  Second  Senusi  leader  was  visited  at  Jaghabub  by  the 
Pasha  of  Tripoli  escorted  by  an  imposing  force.  This 
visit  and  other  actions  of  Abd-al-Hamid  caused  the  Second 
Senusi  perturbation.  Accordingly  in  1894,  he  transferred 
himself  and  his  funds  and  band  of  officials  to  the  Kufara 
oases,  whither  pursuit  by  Turkish  troops  would  be  very 
difficult.  From  this  safe  retreat  he  intensified  his  rela- 
tions across  the  Desert  with  Wadai,  Kanem,  and  Darfur. 
In  1900  the  Second  Senusi  pope  (as  one  might  by  now 
call  him)  moved  his  headquarters  from  Kufara  to  a  rocky 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

stronghold  named  Geru,  in  the  district  of  Dar  Gorani  in 
western  Wadai.  He  did  this  partly  in  furtherance  of  an 
unfortunate  opposition  to  the  French  conquest  of  these 
perturbed  regions  in  the  very  heart  of  Africa.  The  Senusi 
dynasty  was  never  enlightened  enough  to  perceive  the 
wickedness  of  the  Slave  Trade,  and  it  resented  the  efforts 
of  the  French  to  put  down  the  shocking  slave  raiding  of 
the  Wadai  Muhammadans. 

The  French  armies  however  were  victorious,  and  the 
Second  Senusi  died  of  disappointment  in  Wadai. 

The  Third  in  succession  was  the  son  of  his  brother, 
Muhammad  ash- Sharif  and  was  named  Ahmad  ash- 
Sharif.  He  was  chosen  by  the  confraternity  because  the 
sons  of  Muhammad  al  Mahdi  were  deemed  to  be  too 
young  for  the  cares  and  responsibilities  of  this  Pope-like 
position.  Ahmad  ash- Sharif  re-established  his  capital  at 
Kufara,  but  in  spite  of  his  recognition  as  supreme  head 
of  the  institution  attempts  were  made  by  the  confraternity 
to  ignore  the  death  of  the  Second  Senusi,  to  announce 
that  he  was  travelling  on  secret  business,  that  he  would 
one  day  return  to  resume  the  supreme  power  vested  mean- 
time in  his  nephew.  It  is  possible  this  fiction  was  set  about 
by  those  who  were  led  to  distrust  the  wisdom  of  Ahmad 
the  Third  Senusi. 

Ahmad  apparently  decided  that  the  Brotherhood 
should  offer  unstinted  opposition  to  the  French  in  Central 
Africa,  and  that  they  should  ally  themselves  with  the 
Turkish  Sultan  whom  his  grandfather  had  derided  and 
opposed  as  an  effete  and  heretical  ruler.  Between  1902 
and  1909,  Senusis  were  fighting  the  French  advance  on 
Wadai  and  contiguous  countries.  In  1910  Turkish  troops 
advanced  for  the  first  time  beyond  Fazan  into  the  Tibesti 
mountains  and  Borku.  But  in  the  following  year  they 
were  withdrawn  northwards  to  oppose  the  Italian  invasion 
of  Tripoli.  Sayyid  Ahmad  ash-Sharif,  the  Senusi  leader, 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

joined  Turkey  after  the  outbreak  of  the  Great  War  in 
1914  and  in  1918  had  to  flee  to  Constantinople  in  a  sub- 
marine, as  Mrs.  Forbes  relates.  Thenceforth  she  becomes 
the  sole  historian  for  the  time  being  of  the  Senusi  family, 
and  according  to  her  relation  we  see  that  Idris,  son  of 
Muhammad  al  Mahdi,  and  grandson  of  the  First  Senusi 
teacher  has  become  the  fourth  ruler  of  his  family  and  has 
been  accorded  by  Italy  and  Britain  the  title  of  a  Prince 
(Amir) .  His  domain  is  now  recognized  as  covering  the 
inner  region  of  Cyrenaica  between  the  Egyptian  frontier 
on  the  east,  that  of  Fazan  on  the  west,  of  the  coast  region 
of  Cyrene  on  the  north  and  approximately  on  the  south 
of  the  20th  degree  of  N.  Latitude.  Jedabia  as  marked  on 
Mrs.  Forbes's  map  is  very  near  the  Mediterranean  coast, 
and  Zuetina,  also  referred  to,  is  actually  a  seaport  which 
is  to  be  the  outlet  of  a  hoped-for  Sudan  trade  coming  from 
Wadai.  Whether  this  important  outlet  is  intended  to 
come  within  the  Sharifian  domain  of  Sayyid  Idris  is  not 
quite  clear:  it  hardly  seems  likely  that  at  present  Italy 
would  allow  a  quasi-independent  Arab  power  to  attain  to 
a  port  on  the  Mediterranean  between  the  provinces  of 
Cyrene  and  Tripoli. 

Italy  of  course  retains  from  an  international  point  of 
view  the  suzerainty  over  the  Senusi  Prince,  whose  access 
to  the  Mediterranean  she  could  not  permit  to  be  abused  or 
allow  it  to  shelter  a  revival  of  the  slave  trade,  practised 
so  long  by  the  Turks,  and  at  no  time  denounced  by  the 
followers  of  the  Senusi. 

Somewhat  similarly  to  the  action  of  Italy  since  the 
conclusion  of  the  War,  the  British  have  been  striving  to 
create  an  independent  or  nearly-independent  Arab  state  in 
Mesopotamia;  they  have  evacuated  Persia  (though  it  is 
still  threatened  by  the  Russian  Soviet)  and  they  are  en- 
deavouring to  recreate  a  wholly  independent  congeries  of 
Arab  States  in  Arabia,  especially  in  the  case  of  the  Hijaz, 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

the  Domain  of  Muhammad  and  the  region  in  which  he 
was  born,  lived,  and  worked. 

What  will  Islam  do  for  the  world  of  civilisation  in 
return?  Will  it  give  up,  once  and  for  all  and  completely, 
the  age-long  attempt  to  maintain  slavery  as  an  institu- 
tion, to  override  and  enslave  the  Negro,  to  persecute  the 
Christian,  the  Jew,  and  the  harmless  pagan?  Will  it 
cease  to  despise  true  Science,  and  encourage  unfettered 
education?  For  a  century  or  two  after  the  Arab  conquests 
of  Spain  and  Mesopotamia,  education  took  great  strides, 
and  the  civilisation  of  the  Old  World  was  really  somewhat 
advanced.  Then  followed  a  heart-breaking  Muhammadan 
reaction,  as  bad  in  its  effects  as  Byzantine  Christianity. 
Under  the  Turks,  more  especially,  Islam  was  made  the 
cover  for  a  disastrous  check  to  learning,  to  investigation, 
to  mastery  over  the  planet  and  its  resources.  Muham- 
madanism  became  the  rallying  ground  for  the  enemies  of 
Civilisation.  Its  teaching  became  and  has  remained  in- 
credibly puerile  and  futile.  Compare  the  curriculum  of 
Al  Azhar  with  that  of  British,  American,  French,  Ger- 
man, Italian,  Austrian  or  Spanish  universities!  The 
author  of  this  interesting  story  seems  content  and  hopeful 
as  to  the  progress  of  Senusi  teaching.  I,  having  traced 
the  downward  course  of  so  many  Muhammadan  move- 
ments, split  always  on  the  rock  of  Education,  reserve  my 
opinion,  and  meantime  distrust  all  Islamic  agitation. 

H.  H.  JOHNSTON. 

July  25,  1921. 


PREFACE 

I  FEEL  this  Libyan  story  needs  a  few  words  of  explana- 
tion, for  owing  to  the  peculiar  circumstances  in  which  it 
was  undertaken  it  is  not  the  usual  consecutive  and  com- 
prehensive book  of  travel  compiled  after  the  return  of 
an  expedition  wherein  the  traveller  is  able  to  review  the 
journey  as  a  whole.  Reading  such  works,  I  have  so  often 
found  myself  asking,  "And  then  what  happened?"  or 
"I  wonder  what  he  felt  at  the  moment?"  Well,  this 
is  a  very  simple  account  of  "what  happened  next."  In 
no  way  does  it  pretend  to  be  a  scientific  record  of 
exploration,  for,  owing  to  the  ever  urgent  necessity  of 
secrecy  and  disguise,  the  use  of  most  instruments  was 
an  impossibility. 

The  spirit  of  the  story  changes  with  the  mood  and 
the  method  of  its  development.  It  was  written  in  so 
many  odd  ways  at  so  many  odd  times — under  a  scented 
sage-bush  in  the  sunset  while  the  slaves  were  putting  up 
our  tent,  or  huddled  inside  a  flea-bag  when  the  nights 
were  very  cold.  Sometimes,  when  life  was  exciting,  it 
was  scribbled  on  a  camel  under  the  shelter  of  a  barracan! 
Twice,  at  least,  the  last  chapter  according  to  all  human 
calculations  was  completed  in  the  hope  that  the  tattered 
copy  books  would  somehow  find  their  way  back  to 
civilization  and  the  fate  of  the  expedition  be  known  up 
till  its  last  moments.  It  is  a  daily  record  of  success  and 
failure,  of  a  few  months  in  an  alien  world,  showing  how 
much  of  that  world's  spirit  was  absorbed.  Because,  in 
real  life,  the  big  things  and  the  little  things  are  inex- 
tricably mixed  up  together,  so  in  Libya  at  one  moment 


xxii  PREFACE 

one  worried  because  one's  native  boots  were  full  of  holes, 
at  the  next  perhaps,  one  wondered  how  long  one  would 
be  alive  to  wear  them.  This  book  records  the  former 
mood  as  well  as  the  latter,  because  both  at  the  time  were 
equally  important. 

Naturally  such  an  impossible,  illogical  journey  leaves 
one  indebted  to  so  many  people  that  it  is  difficult  to  pick 
out  those  to  whom  one  owes  most. 

I  have  dedicated  the  story  of  our  adventures  to  my 
co-explorer  Ahmed  Bey  Hassanein,  for  his  knowledge  of 
the  Senussi  acquired  during  his  secretaryship  to  the  Talbot 
Mission  in  1916  was  invaluable  to  me,  and  he  was  the 
loyalest  of  my  allies  throughout  the  expedition.  His  tact 
and  eloquence  so  often  saved  the  situation  when  my 
Arabic  failed,  and  we  laughed  and  fought  through  all  our 
difficulties  together. 

Long  before  my  Kufara  expedition  merged  from  im- 
possible dream  to  probable  fact,  many  officers  stationed 
in  the  Western  Desert  lent  me  their  knowledge  of  the 
Senussi  oasis,  gathered  from  careful  conversations  with 
Beduin  sheikhs  and  merchants,  while  from  Khartum, 
El  Fasher  and  Cairo  came  maps  and  route  reports  which 
were  most  useful. 

I  now  know  that  we  might  have  benefited  exceedingly 
from  Rohlfs's  most  careful  and  valuable  writings  on  the 
subject  of  his  North  African  travels,  but  unfortunately 
we  only  possessed  his  "Kufra,"  which  does  not  attempt 
much  description  of  the  oasis  he  was  the  first  European 
to  visit,  confining  itself  chiefly  to  the  relation  of  the 
story  of  the  destruction  of  his  camp  and  the  break-up  of 
the  expedition.  In  a  Journal  of  the  African  Society  the 
great  German  explorer  gives  the  exact  bearing  on  which 
he  marched  from  Jalo.  Had  we  known  this  at  the  time 
we  might  have  arrived  at  Taiserbo  in  spite  of  the  error 


PREFACE 


xx  m 


in  the  extent  of  vegetation  marked  on  the  map.*  We 
picked  up  the  traces  of  Rohlfs's  journey  at  Buseima, 
where  some  of  the  inhabitants  remembered  him  as 
Mustapha  Bey.  At  Hawari  several  sheikhs  told  us  stories 
about  his  adventures  there  and  at  Buma,  but  at  no  point 
could  we  find  any  trace  of  Stecker  having  visited  the 
oases.  On  the  contrary  we  were  categorically  assured 
by  Sheikhs  Mohammed  el  Madeni,  Bu  Regea  and  Sidi 
Omar  at  Buseima,  and  by  Sheikhs  Musa  Squaireen, 
Mansur  Bu  Badr,  Musa  Gharibeel  and  Sidi  Zarrug  at 
Hawari  that  Rohlfs  had  no  other  European  with  him. 
Stecker  was  the  surveyor  of  the  party,  and  in  view  of 
the  difference  in  the  position  he  assigned  to  Buma  and 
that  which  we  believe  it  to  occupy,  we  made  the  most 
exhaustive  inquiries  as  to  the  personnel  of  the  German 
expedition;  but  while  we  collected  much  intimate  in- 
formation concerning  Rohlfs,  all  evidence  offered  us 
stated  positively  that  he  was  not  accompanied  by  Stecker 
at  Hawari,  Buma,  or  on  his  return  journey  to  Buseima. 
On  these  occasions  he  was  always  described  as  being 
"with  his  cook,  Ali,  and  a  big  horse." 

The  gracious  reception  accorded  me  by  H.E.  the 
Governor  of  Cyrenaica,  Senator  de  Martino,  made  me 
regretful  that  I  could  not  stay  longer  in  his  admirable 
colony.  To  him,  to  General  di  Vita  and  the  Cavaliere 
Queirolo,  head  of  the  Ufficio  Politico  at  Benghazi,  I 
owe  my  delightful  journey  to  Jedabia  and  a  store  of 
invaluable  information  regarding  the  country  to  which 
they  most  kindly  facilitated  my  visit. 

To  any  reader  it  will  at  once  be  evident  that,  after 
the  generous  help  of  the  Italians  in  Cyrenaica,  the  whole 

*  On  the  Egyptian  survey  map  (2,000,000  series)  1912,  re-issued  1915,  the  green 
area  of  Taiserbo  vegetation  runs  across  longitude  22°  and  touches  latitude 
26°.  It  will  be  seen  from  the  map  of  our  route  that  we  marched  across  this 
angle  without  finding  Kusebeya  or  any  trace  of  vegetation. 


XXIV 


PREFACE 


success  of  the  expedition  depended  on  the  good  will  of 
the  Emir  Mohammed  Idris  es  Senussi  and  of  his  brother, 
Sayed  Rida.  It  is  absolutely  impossible  for  any  European 
to  set  foot  into  Libya  without  the  permission  of  the 
Emir  or  his  wakil.  We  were  welcomed  by  the  Sayeds 
with  a  hospitality  that  reminded  us  of  the  Arab  greeting 
to  a  guest,  "All  that  is  mine  is  thine."  Whatever  we 
asked  for  was  given  us,  multiplied  a  hundredfold.  Sidi 
Idris  and  his  brother  were  so  prodigal  of  their  generosity, 
so  unfailing  of  their  help,  that  we  shall  feel  eternally  their 
debtors. 

Since  surprise  has  been  expressed  that  we  should  have 
met  with  any  opposition  in  Libya  once  we  were  provided 
with  Sidi  Idris's  passport,  I  should  like  to  explain  that 
we  had  no  permit  from  the  Emir  himself.  The  letter 
referred  to  throughout  the  book  was  merely  a  casual, 
personal  letter  expressing  his  willingness  to  receive  us. 
We  had,  however,  a  passport  from  Sayed  Rida  authoriz- 
ing the  Sitt  Khadija,  a  Moslem  working  for  the  good  of 
Islam  and  the  Senussi,  and  A.  M.  Bey  Hassanein  to 
visit  the  country.  This  document  insured  us  the  most 
hospitable  welcome  from  the  official  classes  in  spite  of 
the  plots  of  the  Bazama  family  and  of  Abdullah,  to  which 
plots  alone  I  imagine  we  owe  the  adventures  of  our 
journey. 

Because  of  the  good  will  of  the  Sayeds  we  found  many 
friends  and  allies  in  their  country,  notably  Mohammed 
Quemish  and  Yusuf  el  Hamri,  who  accompanied  us 
through  1,000  miles  of  desert  till,  somewhere  east  of 
Munasib  Pass,  we  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Frontier 
Districts  Administration,  and  thereby  hangs  a  tale,  for 
so  few  of  us  in  England  know  for  how  much  she  is  re- 
sponsible abroad! 

Egypt  is  like  a  tadpole,  her  head  the  Delta,  and  her 
tail  the  long  curving  valley  of  the  Nile.  Therefore,  of 


PREFACE  xxv 

all  countries,  she  is  the  most  vulnerable  of  attack,  and 
never  could  she  defend  her  own  borders!  Mohammed 
Ali  subsidized  the  sheikhs  of  the  Wilad  Ali  to  police  his 
frontiers.  Before  the  War  the  Egyptian  Coastguards 
built  their  forts  along  the  Mediterranean  and  Red  Sea 
shores  and  pushed  their  outposts  south  into  the  deserts, 
but  during  the  War  a  far  more  efficient  force  sprang  into 
being.  Nowadays  the  Frontier  Districts  Administration, 
a  kingdom  within  a  kingdom,  is  responsible  for  the  safety 
of  "all  country  not  watered  by  the  Nile"  between 
the  Sudan  and  the  Mediterranean,  the  Red  Sea  and 
Cyrenaica.  The  territory  is  divided  into  four  Provinces, 
and  under  a  Military  Administrator  in  Cairo,  Brigadier- 
General  Hunter,  C.B.,  C.M.G.,  the  governors  and 
officials  combine  the  complicated  duties  of  protector  and 
judge,  guide,  instructor  and  friend  to  the  tens  of  thousand 
Beduin  who  might  at  any  time  prove  a  thorn  in  the  flesh 
of  Egypt.  This  exceedingly  capable  organization,  or 
such  portion  of  it  as  officiates  in  the  Western  Desert, 
took  charge  of  us  before  we  reached  Siwa,  and  to  them, 
especially  to  Colonel  MacDonnell,  Governor  of  the 
Western  Desert,  and  to  Colonel  Forth,  Commandant 
of  the  Camel  Corps,  we  owe  more  than  it  is  possible  to 
acknowledge  in  a  mere  preface. 

In  fact,  I  find  myself  unconsciously  including  in  a 
long  list  of  indebtedness  the  fact  that,  having  written 
their  names  far  and  wide  across  the  Eastern  Sahara,  they 
had  fortunately  for  me,  temporarily  omitted  Kufara 
from  the  itineraries  of  those  swift  dashes  into  the  wilder- 
ness which  habitually  add  a  couple  of  hundred  miles  or 
so  to  the  known  chart  of  Africa ! 

One  name  is  always  connected  with  theirs,  because  it 
appears  on  so  many  desert  routes — that  of  Dr.  Ball, 
F.R.G.S.,  the  Director  of  the  Desert  Surveys  of  Egypt. 
Encouraged  by  his  sympathy  and  experience,  we  brought 


XXVI 


PREFACE 


him  our  rough  notes  and  drawings  and  from  them  he 
compiled  the  map  of  our  journey.  I  think,  therefore, 
that  my  readers'  gratitude  should  be  nearly  as  great  as 
my  own! 

ROSITA  FORBES. 

Abu  Menes, 

March,  1921. 


CONTENTS 

PAGR 

INTRODUCTION  BY  SIR  HARRY  JOHNSTON     .       .       •       .       vii 
PREFACE xxi 

CHAPTBR 

I  WE  ENTER  ON  THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE     .        .        .        .          1 

II     PLANS  FOR  THE  FLIGHT ,        ...        21 

III     THE  ESCAPE  FROM  JEDABIA .39 

IV     ACROSS  THE  DESERT  WITH  SHE-IB 64 

V     TRIUMPHANT  ARRIVAL  AT  JALO 88 

VI  CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  DESERT          .        .        .        .        .       ..112 

VII  A  FAULTY  GUIDE  ON  A  WATERLESS  WAY    .        .        .        .126 

VIII  THE  LAKE  IN  THE  DESERT          .        .        .        .1       .,       .      148 

IX     TREACHERY  AT  HAWARI .172 

X     FEASTS  IN  THE  HOLY  PLACE :       .185 

XI     THE  "CITIES"  OF  KUFARA .     203 

XII     THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ ,       r«       .     222 

XIII  THROUGH  THE  MOUNTAINS  ,;       ,.,       ,.,     251 

XIV  THE  ELUSIVE  DUNES  .        ,:       >i       ,.,       .,     270 
XV     THE  END  OF  THE  JOURNEY  .       :.]       ..,       .     291 

MAP 310 

APPENDIXES •.       ™       ...       .311 

GLOSSARY 341 

INDEX 345 

xxvii 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

ROSITA   FORBES Frontispiece 

FACING    PAGE 

THE  EMIR  IDRIS  ES  SENUSSI 16 

THE  AUTHOR  AS  A  BEDUIN  SHEIK 17 

AHMED  MOHAMMED  BEY  HASSANEIN,  MY  FELLOW  EXPLORER  .  32 
SAYED  RIDA  ES  SENUSSI  .  .  .  ...  .  .  .33 

THE  AUTHOR  AT  JEDABIA 48 

THE  AUTHOR  ON  CAMEL-BACK 48 

BEDUIN  WOMAN  AT  JEDABIA 49 

NOMAD  TENTS  NEAR  JEDABIA 64 

OUR  SOLDIER  SLAVES  AND  THE  GUIDE  ABDULLAH  ....  64 

WELL  AT  JEDABIA 65 

NOMAD  ENCAMPMENTS  ROUND  JEDABIA 65 

SAYED  RIDA  ES  SENUSSI .80 

THE  AUTHOR  IN  BEDUIN  DRESS 81 

UNLOADING  ON  THE  SECOND  DAY  FROM  JEDABIA  ....  96 

WADI  FARIG;  CAMELS  AT  THE  WELL  ......  96 

A  HALT  FOR  THE  NIGHT 97 

CAMP  OF  MOJABRA  MERCHANTS  AT  Bm  RASSAM     ....  97 

HASSANEIN  BEY  AND  MOJABRAS  DRINKING  TEA     ....  128 

FLOCKS  WATERING  AT  BIR  RASSAM          .        .        .        .        .        .  128 

SHE-IB'S  CARAVAN  ON  THE  MARCH  BETWEEN  WADI  FARIG  AND 

AUJELA 129 

OUR  CARAVAN  APPROACHING  AUJELA 129 

THE  MOSQUE  AT  AUJELA,  WHERE  is  BURIED  THE  CLERK  OF  THE 

PROPHET  MOHAMMED 144 

DESERT  WELL  AT  JALO 144 

THE  AUTHOR  WITH  THE  Two  SLAVES — ZEINAB  AND  HAUWA  145 


xxx  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PACING  PAGE 

OUR  CAMP  AT  BUTTAFAL 145 

CARAVAN  ON  THE  MARCH  BETWEEN  BUTTAFAL  AND  TAISERBO  .  160 

THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  BUSEIMA 160 

CARAVAN  IN  DUNE  COUNTRY  NEAR  BUSEIMA 161 

THE  FIRST  MEETING  BETWEEN  THE  FAQRUN  FAMILY  AND  OUR 

PARTY  AT  BUSEIMA 161 

GARDENS  AND  LAKE  AT  BUSEIMA 176 

THE  AUTHOR  ON  A  CAMEL  AT  BUSEIMA 176 

ZOUIA  WOMEN  AT  BUSEIMA .  .177 

AT  BUSEIMA;  TEACHING  THE  FAQRUN  FAMILY  TO  USE  FIELD 

GLASSES 177 

THE  FOUR  EKHWAN  WHO  RECEIVED  us  AT  TAJ  ....  192 
HASSANEIN  BEY  TALKING  TO  EKHWAN  AT  TAJ  WHILE  THE 

AUTHOR  PHOTOGRAPHED  THEM 192 

THE  KAIMAKAAN  AT  TAJ 193 

ZAWIA  TOWER  AT  TAJ 208 

KUFARA  WADI,  FROM  TAJ 208 

BARRAKING;  A  Too  SUDDEN  DESCENT  .  .  .  .  .  .  209 

A  LUNCH  IN  KUFARA  VALLEY 209 

A  TEBU  AT  AWARDEL  IN  KUFARA 224 

OUR  CAMP  AT  AWARDEL 225 

LOADING  AT  AWARDEL  . 225 

CAMP  AT  MEHEMSA;  YUSUG,  MOHAMMED  AND  AMAR  .  .  .  240 

THE  AUTHOR  ASLEEP  ON  A  CAMEL  .......  240 

JAGHABUB 241 

WELL  IN  ZAWIA  AT  JAGHABUB 241 

OUR  HOST  AT  JAGHABUB .  256 

SIDI  IDRIS'S  HOUSE  AT  JAGHABUB 257 

MOSQUE  AND  QUEBA  OF  SIDI  BEN  ALI  AT  JAGHABUB  ...  257 

MY  LONELY  PICNIC  IN  KUFARA  WADI 272 

A  GLASS  OF  MINT  TEA  ON  THE  WAY  TO  SIWA  ....  272 

DOCUMENTS  OF  WELCOME  GIVEN  AT  BUSEIMA  AND  KUFARA  (TAJ)  273 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE 
SAHARA  :  KUFARA 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE 
SAHARA:   KUFARA 

CHAPTER  I 

WE  ENTER  ON  THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

THE  great  adventure  began  at  Jedabia,  190  kilo- 
metres from  Benghazi  as  the  crow  flies.  It  is 
only  a  group  of  scattered  sand  houses,  with  the 
mysterious  windowless  walls  of  the  East,  flung  down 
on  a  wide  space  of  white  rock  and  sand,  yet  it  is  the 
home  of  the  great  Senussi  family.  We  arrived  there  on 
November  28,  1920,  having  come  by  divers  methods 
across  the  stretch  of  stony  desert  which  lies  to  the  south- 
west of  Benghazi,  the  capital  of  Cyrenaica.  It  is  an 
almost  deserted  country  of  flat  reddish  sand,  sprinkled 
with  rocks  and  tufts  of  coarse  grey  grass  which  provides 
food  for  rare  camel  caravans  and  fuel  for  the  Beduin 
fires.  There  are  no  made  roads,  but  rough  tracks  link 
the  scattered  Italian  forts,  manned  by  companies  of 
stalwart  Eritreans  and  irregular  Arab  levies.  To  the 
south,  the  altipiano  rises  in  a  faint  line  of  purple  cliff 
which  catches  wonderful  reflections  in  the  setting  sun. 
Otherwise  the  vista  is  intensely  monotonous  save  for 
an  occasional  encampment  of  Auwaghir.  Unlike  the 
solid  black  "beit  esh  shar"1  of  the  Syrian  or  Algerian 
nomad,  their  tents  are  of  the  poorest  description,  made 
of  patched  sacking  of  various  grey -brown  shades;  they 
are  very  low-pitched,  so  that  even  in  the  centre  one  can- 
not stand  upright. 

In  the  dry  season,  wherever  there  are  wells,  may  be 

1  A  glossary  of  Arabic  words  and  phrases  used  in  the  book  will  be  found  on  p.  337. 

a 


3       THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

seen  congregated  flocks  of  sheep  and  goats  and  herds  of 
camels  numbering  many  thousands.  After  rain,  how- 
ever, so  much  water  lies  out  on  the  rocky  ground  that 
the  animals  can  drink  wherever  they  like,  so  the  country 
presents  its  most  deserted  appearance. 

Benghazi  is  a  little  white  town  lying  on  the  very 
edge  of  the  Mediterranean  breakers,  unprotected  by 
harbour  or  mole.  Famine  and  disease  considerably 
reduced  its  population  during  the  War  and  the  suqs 
are  almost  deserted.  An  occasional  donkey  with  scarlet 
tassels  and  a  load  of  fresh  dates  passes  down  the  Sidi 
Shabi  where  European  stores  and  native  booths  stand 
side  by  side.  A  few  camels  come  in  from  the  country 
half  buried  beneath  huge  sacks  of  grain.  In  the  evening 
there  is  a  mustering  of  bearded  merchants  at  the  little 
cafe  by  the  mosque,  while  contemptuous  Askari  in  scar- 
let tarboushes  and  swinging  capes  stroll  by,  smoking 
Italian  cigarettes,  but  the  life  of  the  town  is  confined 
to  the  European  quarter  containing  the  hotel  and  the 
Government  offices. 

The  biggest  of  the  white,  Oriental-looking  buildings 
is  Government  House,  with  a  double  line  of  great 
Moorish  arches  decorating  its  imposing  fa9ade.  So 
different  from  the  windowless  dwellings  of  Jedabia  with 
their  discreet  high-walled  yards,  yet  it  was  there  that  I 
first  saw  Es  Sayed  Mohammed  Idris  bin  es  Sayed  el 
Mahdi  es  Senussi,  the  man  whose  power  is  felt  even 
beyond  the  boundaries  of  Libya  and  Cyrenaica.  The 
Italians  and  the  Senussi  had  ratified  a  few  days  before 
the  provisional  treaty  of  1916  and  there  were  great 
festas  at  Benghazi  in  honour  of  the  newly  made  Emir, 
who  was  spending  a  few  days  in  the  capital  on  his  way 
to  Italy  to  visit  the  King. 

There  had  been  an  official  reception  and  down  the 
broad  steps  moved  the  black  mass  of  Italian  uniforms 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE  3 

splashed  with  the  vivid  blue  of  their  gala  sashes  and  the 
glint  of  their  gay-ribboned  medals.  Foremost  came 
the  Governor,  Senator  de  Martino,  in  the  green  and  gold 
uniform  of  a  Knight  of  Malta,  and  General  Di  Vita, 
with  his  splendid  rows  of  decorations.  Between  them 
walked  a  figure  which  dominated  the  group  and  yet  gave 
one  the  impression  of  being  utterly  remote  from  it. 
Robed  all  in  white,  in  silken  kaftan  and  trailing  burnus, 
the  rich  kufiya  flowing  beneath  a  golden  agal,  with  no 
jewel  or  embroidery  to  mark  his  state,  Sidi  Idris  came 
slowly  forward  leaning  on  a  silver-handled  stick.  An 
Italian  officer  murmured  in  my  ear,  "Give  him  a  longer 
beard  and  he  would  be  the  pictured  Christ!"  He  was 
right.  The  ascetic  leader  of  one  of  the  greatest  religious 
confraternities  in  the  world  had  the  strange,  visionary 
eyes  of  the  prophets  of  old.  His  long  face  had  hollows 
under  the  cheek-bones.  The  lips  were  pale  and  the  olive 
skin  almost  waxen.  He  looked  out,  under  a  broad  brow, 
dreamily,  far  beyond  the  pageant  prepared  in  his  honour, 
to  realms  even  more  remote  than  his  own  untrodden 
deserts.  Thus  might  the  Nazarene  have  walked  among 
the  legionaries  of  Rome ! 

The  following  day  I  met  the  Emir  at  a  dinner  which 
Omar  Pasha  gave  in  his  honour.  Before  the  other  guests 
arrived  we  conversed,  I  in  faltering  Egyptian  Arabic, 
he  in  the  classical  language  of  the  Hejaz.  In  the  same 
flowing  white  robes  he  sat  in  a  great  chair  at  the  head 
of  the  room  and  in  a  long  line  beside  him  sat  the 
ekhwan  who  were  to  accompany  him  to  Italy.  They 
were  a  picturesque  sight  in  their  multi-coloured  robes  of 
ceremony.  Prominent  among  them  was  the  General 
Ali  Basha  el  Abdya,  a  delightful  bearded  personage  with 
a  complete  set  of  gold  teeth,  which  touch  of  modernity 
contrasted  oddly  with  his  crimson  kaftan  and  splendid 
dark  burnus  bordered  with  silver.  Beside  him  sat  the 


*       THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

venerable  Sharuf  Basha  el  Ghariam,  who  had  been  the 
teacher  of  Sidi  Idris  and  was  now  his  most  trusted 
councillor.  His  jerd  was  a  sombre  brown,  and  the  end 
of  it  covered  his  head  over  a  close-fitting  white  ma-araka, 
but  his  kaftan,  with  long  embroidered  sleeves,  was  vivid 
rose.  He  had  a  kindly,  serious  face  and  seemed  much 
more  interested  in  his  surroundings  than  the  others. 

I  stumbled  over  my  words  of  formal  greeting,  ex- 
pressed in  the  unaccustomed  plural,  wondering  whether 
the  man  who  looked  so  infinitely  remote  and  uninterested 
would  even  listen  to  what  I  was  saying.  The  brooding 
eyes  softened  suddenly  and  a  smile  that  was  veritable 
light  flashed  across  his  face.  If  graciousness  be  the  token 
of  royalty,  then  Sidi  Idris  is  crowned  by  his  smile!  For 
such  a  look  the  Beduin  prostrates  himself  to  kiss  the 
dust  the  holy  feet  have  pressed  1  Thereafter  we  talked 
of  my  journey  and  he  blessed  me  in  his  frail  voice, 
smiling  still  and  saying,  "May  Allah  give  you  your 
wish!"  I  tried  to  tell  him  of  my  love  of  the  desert,  of 
how  I  was  happiest  when,  from  a  narrow  camp  bed,  I 
could  look  at  the  triangular  patch  of  starlight  beyond  the 
flap  of  my  tent.  "I,  too,"  he  said,  "cannot  stay  more 
than  a  month  in  one  place.  Then  I  must  move,  for  I 
love  the  scent  of  the  desert."  It  is  true  there  is  a  scent 
in  the  desert,  though  there  may  be  no  flower  or  tree  or 
blade  of  grass  within  miles.  It  is  the  essence  of  the 
untrodden,  untarnished  earth  herself! 

We  dined  gorgeously  on  lambs  roasted  whole  and 
stuffed  with  all  sorts  of  good  things — rice,  raisins  and 
almonds — and  on  strange,  sticky  sweetmeats  that  I 
loved  and  bowls  of  cinnamon-powdered  junket  and, 
best  of  all,  the  delicious  thick  Arab  coffee,  but  the  Emir 
ate  little  and  spoke  less.  The  Senussi  law  forbids 
drinking  and  smoking  as  also  the  use  of  gold  for 
personal  adornment,  so  after  the  meal  glasses  of  sweet 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE  5 

tea  flavoured  with  mint  leaves  were  handed  round  to 
the  solemn  ekhwan,  who  took  no  notice  whatever  of 
their  fellow  guests,  consisting  of  the  Governor,  the 
general,  the  captain  of  the  light  cruiser  which  was  to 
carry  the  Senussi  to  Italy,  and  myself.  Omar  Pasha 
made  me  sit  beside  the  Emir,  who  suddenly  turned  to 
his  venerable  followers,  "Come  and  salute  this  lady," 
he  said,  and  instantly,  with  the  unquestioning  obedience 
of  children,  they  clambered  up  from  their  low  chairs 
and  moved  in  a  body  towards  me.  "Aselamu  Aleikum" 
they  murmured  gravely  as  they  shook  my  hand  without 
raising  their  eyes,  but  giving  me  the  Moslem  salutation 
to  a  Moslem! 

Benghazi  was  en  fete  those  days.  There  were  so  many 
ceremonies — a  review,  a  great  dinner  in  the  Governor's 
palace  in  honour  of  Italy's  new  ally — so  I  did  not  see 
Sidi  Idris  again  till  the  last  night  of  his  stay,  when  there 
was  a  general  reception  which  brought  streams  of  Arab 
notables  as  well  as  Europeans  to  witness  the  fireworks 
from  the  wide  verandas  of  His  Excellency's  dwelling. 
I  saw  the  Emir  standing  aloof  from  the  chattering  crowd, 
his  ekhwan  near  him,  and  wondered  what  he  thought 
of  us  all.  Half  the  guests  were  of  his  own  race  and 
creed,  yet  not  here  was  his  real  kingdom,  but  among 
the  ten  thousand  Beduin  who  spring  to  horse  or  camel 
at  his  word,  among  the  hundred  thousand  pilgrims  who 
learn  the  law  from  his  zawias!  We  stood  together  on 
a  wind-swept  balcony  and  looked  down  at  a  wild  dance 
of  Abyssinian  soldiers.  A  thousand  black  figures,  each 
bearing  a  flaring  torch,  gyrated  madly  in  the  moonlight, 
yelling  hoarse  songs  of  victory  and  prowess.  The  three 
things  a  man  may  be  justly  proud  of  in  Abyssinia  are 
killing  a  lion,  an  elephant  or  his  enemy!  The  fantastic 
dance  we  saw  might  celebrate  one  or  other  of  these 
achievements.  Gradually  whirling  into  tempestuous 


6       THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

circles,  the  soldiers  flung  their  torches  into  flaming  piles 
in  the  centre  and  their  chaunt  rose  stronger  on  the 
wind.  Sayed  Idris  was  pleased:  "You  will  see  cere- 
monies like  this  in  my  country,"  he  said,  "but  there 
will  be  no  houses.  You  will  not  miss  them." 

The  moment  the  last  gun,  announcing  the  Emir's 
departure  for  Italy,  had  been  fired,  Hassanein  Bey  and 
I  climbed  into  the  car  most  kindly  lent  by  the  Govern- 
ment. When  he  first  consented  to  accompany  me  to 
the  Libyan  Desert,  where  his  knowledge  of  the  language, 
religion  and  customs  was  invaluable  to  me,  Hassanein 
Bey  assured  me  that  he  came  for  a  rest  cure.  Later  on 
he  assumed  so  many  characters  that  it  was  somewhat 
difficult  to  keep  count.  He  was  always  the  Q.M.G. 
of  our  little  expedition  and  he  used  to  produce  maca- 
roons at  the  most  impossible  moments  from  equally 
impossible  places!  He  was  a  chaperon  when  elderly 
sheikhs  demanded  my  hand  in  marriage,  a  fanatic  of 
the  most  bitter  type  when  it  was  necessary  to  impress 
the  local  mind,  my  Imam  when  we  prayed  in  public,  a 
child  when  he  lost  his  only  pair  of  primrose  yellow 
slippers,  a  cook  when  we  stole  a  bottle  of  Marsala  from 
the  last  Italian  fort  and  chased  a  thin  hen  till,  in 
desperation,  she  laid  an  egg  for  our  zabaglione!  He  also 
made  the  darkest  plans  for  being  a  villain  and  murdering 
anyone  who  interfered  with  our  affairs,  and  I  nervously 
listened  to  tales  of  sudden  disappearances  in  the  Sahara. 

However,  on  the  day  of  our  departure  from  Benghazi 
he  was  distinctly  subdued,  for,  on  looking  at  our  piles 
of  camp  kit  and  my  two  very  small  suit-cases,  I  had 
suddenly  noticed  several  exceedingly  large  and  heavy 
leather  bags.  With  horror  I  demanded  if  they  were 
all  absolutely  necessary  to  his  personal  comfort.  "Yes, 
really!"  he  assured  me.  "They  are  only  actual  necessi- 
ties. As  a  matter  of  fact  they  are  half  empty.  I 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE  7 

thought  they  would  be  useful  for  putting  things  in." 
The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  when  one  of  the 
opulent-looking  cases,  slipping  from  the  Arab  servant's 
hand,  burst  open  and  deposited  at  my  feet  a  large  bottle 
of  "Heure  bleue"  bath  salts,  several  packets  of  salted 
almonds  and  a  sticky  mass  of  chocolates  and  marrons 
glaces,  together  with  a  pair  of  patent  leather  shoes 
and  a  resplendent  Balliol  blazer.  Words  failed  me! 
"Necessities!"  I  stuttered  as  I  marched  towards  the 
camion  to  see  that  the  heaviest  cases  of  provisions  were 
not  put  on  top  of  the  rather  fragile  fanatis  intended  for 
carrying  water. 

Ten  minutes  after  leaving  Benghazi  the  white  town 
with  its  slender  minarets  had  disappeared  into  the  sand, 
and  our  camions  crawled  like  great  grey  beetles  over  a 
sunlit  waste,  with  here  and  there  a  line  of  camels  black 
against  the  horizon.  It  was  the  season  of  sowing  and 
the  tribes  were  scattered  far  and  wide,  planting  the  barley 
that  would  suffice  for  their  frugal  life  next  year.  Here 
and  there,  as  we  went  farther  inland,  a  stooping  figure, 
in  close-wound  white  jerd,  pushed  a  plough  drawn  by  a 
camel,  while  a  friend  guarded  his  labours,  rifle  slung 
across  his  back.  Sometimes  a  rare  traveller  on  gaily 
caparisoned  mule,  his  coarse  brown  jerd  flung  over  his 
head  and  hiding  the  scarlet  sederiya  beneath,  gave  us 
grave  greeting,  "Marhaba!"  "Bien  venu!"  We  spent 
a  night  at  Soluk,  where  the  wells  had  attracted  a 
great  flock  of  sheep,  black  and  brown,  numbering  about 
a  thousand.  The  following  day  we  rode  the  thirty  kilo- 
metres to  Ghemines  on  wiry  Arab  horses  with  mouths 
like  iron  beneath  the  wicked  curved  bits,  and  high- 
pommelled  saddles  mounted  on  black  sheepskins.  Three 
irregulars  of  the  Auwaghir  band  accompanied  us,  gener- 
ally galloping  round  us  in  circles  by  way  of  showing  off 
their  horsemanship. 


8       THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

A  small  encampment  of  some  half-dozen  tents  lay 
beside  our  path,  so  we  turned  in  to  see  if  they  would 
make  us  tea.  At  first  they  refused  because  I  was  a 
Christian.  Then  a  woman  in  striped  red  and  yellow 
barracan,  with  a  heavy  necklace  of  carved  silver,  came 
out  to  inspect  us.  "It  is  all  right,"  she  said  to  the 
others.  "She  is  a  nice  little  thing  and  she  has  a  Moslem 
with  her" — this  in  appreciation  of  Hassanein  Bey's 
white  brocaded  kufiya.  They  spread  a  scarlet  camel's 
hair  rug  for  us  to  sit  on,  but  they  were  not  really  con- 
vinced of  our  good  faith.  My  companion  began  asking 
the  men  if  they  had  made  the  pilgrimage  to  Mecca. 
"Not  yet,"  said  the  oldest  wistfully.  "What  is  written 
is  written.  If  Allah  wills  it,  I  shall  go." 

We  were  rapidly  making  friends  when  a  fierce-looking 
individual  with  a  hard  weather-beaten  face  and  stern 
eyes  appeared.  He  carried  tea  and  sugar,  but  bargained 
fpr  them  violently,  thinking  we  were  both  the  scorned 
Nasrani.  When  we  told  him  we  knew  Sayed  Idris,  he 
laughed  in  our  faces.  "Our  lord  Idris  is  travelling," 
he  said.  "Would  you  like  to  see  a  letter  from  him?" 
I  asked.  Awe  showed  on  all  their  faces,  and  their  eyes 
followed  Hassanein  Bey's  every  movement  as  he  pulled 
out  the  somewhat  crumpled  envelope  from  his  pocket. 
They  read  the  superscription  reverently,  and  then  one  by 
one  kissed  it  with  passionate  earnestness  and  gravely 
pressed  it  to  their  foreheads.  They  returned  it  in  com- 
plete silence.  Without  a  word  the  atmosphere  changed. 
The  fanatic  looked  at  us  with  humble  yearning.  The 
old  man's  eyes  were  glazed.  We  knew  that  we  could 
have  told  these  three  men  to  get  up  and  follow  us  to  an 
unknown  destination  and  they  would  have  obeyed  with 
unquestioning,  ungrudging  faith.  "Sidi  Idris  has  gone 
to  visit  the  King  of  Italy,"  I  said.  "He  has  been  made 
an  Emir."  They  accepted  the  statement  indifferently. 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE  9 

How  could  a  mere  king  confer  honour  on  the  man  whom 
Allah  himself  had  distinguished  above  all  others  living? 
As  we  remounted  the  old  man  kissed  my  hand  with 
tender  eyes,  murmuring,  "Inshallah  ma  temut  ilia 
Islam,"  and  we  galloped  away  amidst  the  wild  "Ulla- 
la-een"  of  the  women  and  children. 

Ghemines  to  Zuetina  meant  120  kilometres  in  a 
camion  over  a  very  bad  sandy  track,  but  that  night  I 
slept  in  a  tent  for  the  first  time  for  six  months.  There 
was  a  wonderful  starry  sky  with  a  full  moon,  and  a 
Senussi  sheikh  rode  into  see  us  on  a  splendid  grey  horse 
with  a  scarlet  saddle.  The  high  pommels  back  and  front 
and  the  wide  stirrups  were  of  silver,  and  the  purple- 
tasselled  bridle  was  heavily  embossed  with  the  same 
metal.  Saved  Mohammed  Hilal  es  Senussi  is  a  cousin 
of  Sidi  Idris  and  a  brother  of  the  Sayed  Ahmed  es  Sherif 
who  fled  to  Turkey  at  the  end  of  the  War.  A  kindly, 
cheerful  personage,  he  apparently  had  cut  adrift  from 
the  stern  rules  of  his  order  and  found  charm  in  a  semi- 
European  life.  His  language  was  so  full  of  rhetorical 
flowers  that  I  found  it  difficult  to  understand,  but  he 
lent  me  an  excellent  horse  for  the  journey  to  Jedabia. 
He  also  requested  me  to  deliver  to  his  cousin,  Sayed 
Rida,  a  poetic  epistle  which  began,  "Oh  freshness  of 
my  eyes,  may  Allah  bless  your  morning  with  peace  and 

joy." 

The  sand  dunes  of  Zuetina  gave  way  to  a  flat,  colour- 
less waste  tufted  with  grey  brushwood.  As  we  turned 
our  horses'  heads  inland  tiny  jerboas  scuttered  into  their 
holes  at  our  approach,  and  occasionally  a  great  hawk 
wheeled  above  our  heads.  Otherwise  there  was  no  sign 
of  life  save  one  solitary  horseman  in  white  jerd  on  a 
white  horse  and  a  boy  sitting  on  a  pile  of  stones  playing 
an  odd  little  tune  on  a  wooden  flute.  Our  grey  Arab 
mounts  were  tired  when  at  last  we  mounted  a  low  rise 


10     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

and  saw  before  us  a  fringe  of  patched  Beduin  tents.  It 
was  the  first  step  on  a  long  journey.  Everything  was 
uncertain.  There  were  so  many  difficulties  to  be  sur- 
mounted, but  we  felt  that  now,  at  least,  the  last  trace 
of  Europe  lay  behind  us.  We  breathed  more  freely. 
We  both  loved  the  desert  and  the  dwellers  therein,  and 
we  felt  that  they  must  understand  and  respond  to  our 
sympathy.  I  turned  to  Hassanein  Bey  as  the  sandy 
track  ran  between  the  blind  mud  walls  that  I  had  seen 
in  so  many  countries.  "I  feel  as  if  I  had  left  behind 
me  the  last  shred  of  civilisation.  The  simplicity  of  life 
is  beginning  to  impregnate  me.  I  believe  that  old 
Beduin's  blessing  has  bewitched  me.  When  we  leave 
the  desert  I  shall  be  a  Moslem." 

We  sent  to  ask  if  Sayed  Rida  el  Mahdi  es  Senussi, 
the  brother  and  wakil  of  Sidi  Idris,  would  receive  us 
and  we  waited  for  an  answer  at  the  edge  of  the  suq, 
where  grave,  bearded  men,  with  the  wistful  eyes  of  those 
who  look  at  far  horizons,  stood  in  white-robed  groups. 
A  few  camels  lay  beside  piles  of  grain,  but  otherwise  the 
wide  open  spaces  between  the  square  walled-in  yards, 
where  were  Arab  houses,  were  deserted.  The  banner  of 
the  Senussi  family,  a  silver  crescent  and  star  on  a  black 
ground,  floated  over  two  of  the  houses  and  the  pro- 
testing roar  of  laden  camels  came  from  one  of  the  larger 
enclosures,  for  Sayed  Safi  ed  Din,  cousin  of  Sidi  Idris 
and  brother  of  the  banished  Ahmed,  was  travelling  to 
the  interior  the  following  day  with  the  whole  of  his  family 
and  sixty  beasts  of  burden. 

A  soldier  of  the  Arab  guard  brought  us  news  that 
the  Sayed  would  receive  us  at  once  and  we  dismounted 
in  one  of  the  windowless  yards  before  the  door  of  a  big 
white  house.  We  were  ushered  into  the  usual  Arab 
reception  room  with  a  stiff  row  of  crimson  brocaded 
chairs  and  sofas  round  the  walls  and  a  table  covered  by 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE  11 

a  beautiful  embroidered  satin  cloth  in  the  centre.  Sayed 
Rida  came  forward  to  meet  us  with  a  reflection  of  his 
brother's  smile.  One  liked  him  at  once.  One  appreciated 
instantly  his  warm  kindliness  and  hospitality.  Sidi  Idris 
is  a  mystic  imbued  with  the  aloof  dignity  of  another 
world,  but  his  wakil  is  young,  spontaneous  and  sym- 
pathetic, with  a  very  simple,  unaffected  manner.  He 
offered  us  immediately  a  house  to  live  in  while  we  were 
in  Jedabia  and  put  at  our  disposal  a  cook  and  two 
other  servants.  He  made  me  talk  Arabic  to  him  and 
corrected  my  mistakes  with  his  broadest  smile.  Sweet 
tea,  flavoured  with  mint,  appeared  in  delightful,  painted 
glass  cups,  and  I  soon  felt  as  if  I  had  known  our  host 
for  years.  He  was  amused  and  interested  in  our  divers 
journeys.  He  made  plans  to  show  us  a  falcon  hunt.  He 
wanted  to  give  us  instantly  anything  from  horses  to  dates. 
In  fact,  I  felt  that  I  was  in  the  presence  of  a  magician 
who  could  wave  his  wand  and  produce  the  wish  of  my 
heart!  In  appearance  Sayed  Rida  is  large  and  impos- 
ing with  a  round,  olive  face  and  very  dark  eyes,  soft  as 
velvet,  which  crinkle  up  humorously  as  he  smiles  widely, 
showing  strong  white  teeth.  He  wore  a  black  jelabia 
under  his  striped  silk  jerd,  snowy  white,  and  a  rolled 
white  turban  above  a  red  ma-araka.  Arab  hospitality  is 
famous  throughout  the  world,  but  we  left  the  dignified 
presence  of  Sayed  Rida  feeling  almost  overwhelmed  at 
his  gracious  welcome. 

Our  temporary  home  fascinated  me.  A  solitary  door 
pierced  the  mysterious  expanse  of  yellow  wall  made  of 
sun-dried  blocks  of  sand  of  all  sizes  and  shapes.  One 
passed  through  a  small  roofed  court  to  a  wide  sunlit 
yard  whose  high  walls  ensure  the  complete  privacy  of 
an  Arab  family.  Hassanein  Bey  had  a  small  room  at 
one  end  and  I  a  great  high  chamber,  hung  with  texts 
from  the  Koran.  We  were  a  kingdom  to  ourselves,  for 


12      THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

there  was  a  well  just  under  my  window,  charcoal  in  an 
outhouse  and  a  large  yard  beyond  where  we  could  have 
housed  camels  and  horses.  As  it  was,  we  stored  our 
simple  outfit  in  it,  for  the  evening  was  dry  and  fine.  We 
knew  from  the  beginning  that  we  must  travel  light  and 
that  our  final  success  might  depend  on  our  capability  for 
riding  fast  and  far.  We  might  have  to  leave  all  our 
luggage  by  the  way  and,  disguised  as  Beduin  camel- 
drivers,  slip  away  in  the  night  into  the  uncharted  land 
where  none  may  follow. 

Thus,  besides  our  sacks  of  rice,  tea  and  sugar — the 
two  latter  intended  for  gifts  to  Beduins  who  helped  us 
on  our  journey — we  had  only  a  single  fly  tent,  eleven  feet 
by  eight  feet,  which  could  be  divided  into  two  by  means 
of  a  canvas  curtain,  a  waterproof  ground-sheet  and  a 
couple  of  beds  which  rolled  into  our  immensely  thick, 
wool-lined  sleeping  sacks,  a  small  army  canteen  that  was 
so  heavy  that  we  had  grave  doubts  as  to  its  eventual  fate, 
a  canvas  washing  basin  and  a  shamadan  case  complete 
with  vast  supply  of  candles,  for  I  foresaw  burning  much 
midnight  wax  over  note-books  and  maps.  We  had 
reduced  our  provisions  to  the  minimum  which  would 
support  human  life  for  four  months,  such  as  coffee,  tins 
of  army  rations,  slabs  of  chocolate,  tins  of  cocoa  and 
milk  already  mixed,  bully  beef,  vegetables  to  avoid 
scurvy,  and  malted  milk  tablets,  but  the  daily  ration  was 
absurdly  small,  for  we  trusted  to  supplement  it  with  dates 
and  rice. 

By  the  light  of  Hassanein  Bey's  electric  torch  we 
picked  our  way  back  over  flat  white  rock  and  sand  to 
Sayed  Rida's  house  to  dine.  This  time  we  found  our 
host  accompanied  by  Sayed  San*  ed  Din,  "the  little 
warrior,"  as  he  is  called  among  the  tribes.  He  is  a  boy 
with  a  vivacious,  pale  face,  a  charming  manner  and  a 
ready  wit.  He  is  intelligent  and,  far  more  than  the 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE  13 

others,  he  is  interested  in  the  ways  of  Europe.  "I  think 
we  should  get  on  well,"  he  said,  "for  you  are  as  curious 
about  me  as  I  am  about  you!" 

The  memory  of  that  dinner  will  haunt  me  for  a  long 
time,  for  it  consisted  of  twelve  courses,  of  which  eight 
were  meat  in  one  form  or  another.  We  began  eating  at 
seven-thirty  and  at  ten-thirty  the  beautifully  scented 
tea  with  sprigs  of  mint  made  its  welcome  appearance. 
During  these  three  hours  we  ate  soup,  chicken,  hashed 
mutton,  slices  of  roast  mutton,  aubergines  stuffed  with 
sausage  meat,  fried  chops,  shoulder  of  mutton  cooked 
in  batter,  ragout  of  mutton  with  vegetables,  stuffed 
tomatoes,  boiled  mutton  with  marrow,  savoury  rice  and 
sweet  omelette.  It  can  be  easily  imagined  that  the  feast 
left  us  a  little  silent  and  comatose,  but  not  so  our  host. 
He  was  literally  brimming  over  with  kindness  and  fore- 
thought. I  was  suffering  at  the  time  from  a  severely 
dislocated  foot,  which  had  not  been  improved  by  the  long 
ride,  and  I  was  obliged  to  hobble  in  one  shoe  and  a 
swollen  native  slipper  by  the  aid  of  a  stick.  Sayed  Rida 
slipped  away  for  a  minute  in  the  middle  of  the  meal  and 
when  we  left  the  house,  lo  and  behold,  a  horse  was  waiting 
for  me  outside  the  door!  His  kindliness  was  as  simple 
and  natural  as  his  whole  bearing.  We  asked  him  if 
he  travelled  much  and  he  replied,  "I  have  not  time.  I 
have  so  much  work.  You  know  it  is  just  like  planting 
a  garden.  Everything  grows  and  grows  till  one's  time 
is  full!"  This  from  the  Emir's  wakil,  whose  word  was 
borne  across  half  the  deserts  of  the  world,  to  Nigeria,  to 
the  Sudan,  to  the  outposts  of  Morocco,  to  the  doors 
of  the  "House  of  Allah"  (Mecca). 

I  remember  opening  my  shutters  that  night  to  a  flood 
of  moonlight  as  clear  as  the  day.  A  faint  myrrh-scented 
breeze,  icy  cold  from  the  Sahara,  came  in,  and  I 
wondered  whether  it  had  blown  over  the  unknown  oasis 


14     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

we  hoped  to  reach.  We  had  had  a  long  talk  that  evening 
of  past  difficulties  and  future  plans.  In  Italy  Kufara 
represents  the  goal  of  so  many  hopes,  in  Cyrenaica  the 
ambition  of  so  many  daring  young  political  officers,  that 
it  is  difficult  to  realise  that  in  England  it  is  an  unknown 
name.  The  sacred  place  of  the  Sahara,  the  far-off  oasis, 
six  hundred  kilometres  from  Jalo,  which  in  itself  is  seven 
days'  rapid  journey  from  the  outskirts  of  civilisation, 
is  spoken  of  with  awe  and  longing  in  Benghazi.  "I 
will  tell  you  a  great  secret,"  said  the  Italian  major  who 
had  spent  a  couple  of  days  with  Sidi  Idris  at  Jaghabub, 
and  had  therefore  penetrated  many  hundreds  of  kilo- 
metres farther  into  the  interior  than  any  of  his  compa- 
triots, "Some  day  I  want  to  go  to  Kufara.  No  one  has 
ever  been  there  except  Rohlfs,  forty  years  ago,  and  he 
saw  nothing — nothing  at  all!" 

Without  going  deeply  into  the  story  of  the  Senussi 
confraternity,  it  may  be  explained  that  their  founder, 
Sidi  Mohammed  Ben  AH  es  Senussi,  preached  his  doctrine 
of  a  pure  and  ascetic  Islam  from  Morocco  to  Mecca,  but 
his  teachings  met  with  their  greatest  success  in  Cyrenaica, 
where  the  Beduin  had  almost  lapsed  from  the  faith  of 
their  fathers.  Rapidly  his  zawia  spread  along  the  coast, 
and  his  authority  was  acknowledged  by  the  Sultan  of 
Wadai,  who  made  him  responsible  for  the  caravans 
traversing  the  great  deserts  of  Wadai,  the  Fezzan  and 
Lake  Chad.  Thus  the  stern  beliefs  of  the  Senussi 
spread  with  every  caravan  that  went  into  the  interior. 
Mohammed  Ben  Ali,  so  holy  that  he  never  unveiled  his 
face  to  his  disciples,  so  honoured  that  his  followers 
prostrated  themselves  to  kiss  his  footprints,  died  at 
Jaghabub  in  1850  and  left  to  his  son,  Mohammed  el 
Mahdi,  the  leadership  of  one  of  the  greatest  and  fiercest 
religious  confraternities  in  the  world.  Their  laws  were 
harsh — for  even  smelling  of  smoke  a  man  might  lose  his 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE  15 

right  hand!  Their  hatred  of  the  infidel  was  fanatical. 
They  ousted  the  Zouia  and  Tebu  from  their  ancient 
homes  in  Kebabo  and  established  impregnably  their  holy 
of  holies  in  this  oasis  which  nature  herself  had  protected 
by  surrounding  it  with  a  belt  of  mighty  dunes  and  two 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  waterless  desert. 

Kufara,  the  Kebabo  of  old,  lies  some  six  hundred 
kilometres  south,  faintly  south-east,  of  Jalo.  It  is  the 
heart  of  the  Eastern  Sahara  and  the  centre  of  its  trade, 
for  the  only  big  caravan  route  from  the  Sudan  and  Wadai 
to  the  north  passes  through  it,  yet  the  journey  is  so  dim- 
cult  that  none  but  the  strongest  caravans  can  attempt  it. 
From  the  well  at  Buttafal,  a  day's  journey  south  of 
Jalo,  seven  hard,  waterless  days  bring  the  traveller  to 
Zieghen,  where  there  is  a  well,  but  no  fodder  or  oasis. 
After  that  he  must  continue  another  five  days,  two  of 
which  are  through  dunes,  before  he  reach  Hawari,  the 
outskirts  of  the  Kufara  group,  sometimes  considered  by 
the  Arabs  to  be  a  separate  oasis  because  it  is  divided 
from  the  main  group  by  a  chain  of  mountains.  This  is 
the  main  route  and  the  easiest.  It  continues  to  Wadai. 

To  the  west  of  this  track  lie  three  other  oases.  The 
first,  Taiserbo,  is  also  seven  days'  waterless  journey  from 
Buttafal  and  it  is  rarely  approached,  for  it  has  neither 
civil,  religious  nor  commercial  importance,  but  its  Tebu 
ruins  might  make  it  of  interest  historically.  Some 
hundred  and  fifty  kilometres  beyond  in  a  south-westerly 
direction  is  Buseima,  which  is  famous  for  its  dates,  for 
which  caravans  sometimes  visit  it,  and  still  farther  south 
lies  Ribiana,  to  all  description  a  lawless  spot  from  which 
come  the  marauding  bands  which  make  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Buseima  exceedingly  dangerous. 

Of  course,  all  this  information  was  acquired  at  a  later 
date.  When  I  arrived  at  Jedabia  I  knew  less  than 
nothing  of  Libyan  geography.  I  did  not  know  that  the 


16     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

principal  villages  in  Kufara  were  Jof ,  the  seat  of  govern- 
ment, and  Taj,  the  holy  of  holies  of  the  Senussi  faith. 
I  did  not  know  that  mountains  and  lakes,  fields  of 
tamarisk  and  acacia,  peaches,  grapes  and  figs  were  to  be 
found  in  this  Garden  of  Eden  lost  amid  the  impenetrable 
sands,  between  the  Dakhla  Desert  to  the  east,  untraversed 
by  Europeans,  and  to  the  west  the  trackless  waste 
stretching  to  Uau  Szerir  at  the  edge  of  Tripolitania,  to 
which  remote  prison  some  of  the  unfortunate  survivors 
of  the  Miani  column  were  sent  as  prisoners.  To  me, 
Kufara  was  almost  a  mirage.  It  represented  the  secret 
which  the  Sahara  had  rigidly  guarded  for  so  long  against 
Christian  eyes.  The  tragic  story  of  Rohlfs'  ill-fated 
expedition  fired  my  enthusiasm  to  reach  this  centre  of 
the  world's  most  fanatical  confraternity,  the  unknown, 
mysterious  country  untrod  by  foot  of  stranger,  be  he 
Christian  or  Moslem. 

Having  regard  to  the  amazing  difficulties  of  the 
journey  and  the  almost  maniacal  hatred  with  which 
strangers  are  regarded,  it  is  natural  that,  with  one  pos- 
sible exception,  no  European  should  ever  have  been  able 
to  reach  the  sacred  cluster  of  zawias  and  morabits  at  Taj. 
A  French  prisoner  spent  some  time  in  Kufara  during  the 
war;  he  was  sent  there  from  Uau  Szerir  by  order  of 
Sayed  Ahmed.  Over  forty  years  ago  a  German  explorer 
made  a  very  gallant  attempt  to  solve  the  mystery  of 
the  far-off  oasis.  In  1879  the  Kaiser  Wilhelm  I  sent 
a  scientific  expedition  to  Libya  consisting  of  four  men — 
Rohlfs,  Stecker,  Eckhart  and  Hubner.  It  was  backed 
by  the  whole  power  of  Turkey.  It  carried  magnificent 
presents  from  the  Emperor.  It  was  laden  with  cases  of 
silver  and  gold.  Hostages  were  held  at  Benghazi,  while 
Rohlfs  led  his  party  to  the  southern  deserts.  He  left 
Jalo  on  July  5  with  a  hundred  camels  and  a  large 
escort  of  Zouias  mounted  on  horses,  including  several 


THE    EMIK    IDRIS    ES    SEXUSSI 


THE     AUTHOR     AS     A    BEDUIX     SHEIK 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE  17 

sheikhs,  the  principal  of  whom  was  Bu  Guettin.  He 
accomplished  the  amazing  feat  of  reaching  Taiserbo  in 
four  and  a  half  days,  by  riding  nearly  twenty  hours  out 
of  the  twenty-four.  In  his  most  interesting  book  on 
his  North  African  travels,  which  has  unfortunately  not 
been  translated  into  English,  he  suggests  that  Taiserbo 
may  have  been  the  site  of  the  original  Tebu  sultanate, 
as  he  saw  ruins  which  might  possibly  be  those  of  a  castle 
or  stronghold  at  Diranjedi.  He  continued  his  southern 
course  by  way  of  Buseima,  till  he  reached  Hawawiri, 
where  he  was  persuaded  by  a  friendly  sheikh,  Korayim 
Abd  Rabu,  to  camp  in  an  outlying  palm  grove  to  avoid 
any  friction  with  the  villagers,  who  refused  to  allow  the 
Nasrani  to  enter  their  country. 

The  plucky  Teuton  describes  the  gathering  outside 
his  tent  and  the  long  discussion  as  to  whether  he  and 
his  companions  should  be  murdered  or  not.  The  day 
following,  August  14,  they  were  induced  by  Bu  Guettin 
and  the  treacherous  Zouias,  who  were  fanatically  opposed 
to  the  presence  of  strangers  and  greedy  to  share  the  spoils 
of  so  rich  a  caravan,  to  leave  Hawawiri  and,  skirting 
the  oasis,  to  isolate  themselves  in  Boema,  the  loneliest 
and  most  deserted  spot  in  the  whole  group.  Rohlfs  ap- 
parently agreed  to  this  plan  because  the  neighbourhood 
of  any  of  the  main  villages  was  dangerous.  He  had  to 
oppose  the  combined  hatred  of  the  ekhwan  and  pupils 
of  the  zawias,  religions  fanatics,  the  villagers  who 
jealously  guarded  the  privacy  of  their  country  and  the 
passing  caravans  of  pilgrims  and  merchants.  After  being 
held  a  prisoner  for  nearly  a  month  in  this  lonely  camp, 
in  daily  fear  for  his  life,  he  was  helped  to  escape  by  his 
original  friend,  Korayim,  who  took  him  by  night,  with 
his  three  companions,  to  his  son-in-law's  camp,  somewhere 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Zuruk.  That  very  night 
the  German's  camp  was  attacked  and  looted.  Every 


18     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

single  note-book,  map,  drawing  and  scientific  instrument 
was  destroyed,  so  Rohlfs  was  unable  to  attempt  much 
description  even  of  his  journey  up  to  Hawawiri. 

In  the  book  which  he  calls  "Kufra"  he  devotes  a 
chapter  to  his  perils  and  battles  in  that  inhospitable  oasis, 
but,  after  his  rescue  by  Korayim,  whose  son  we  met  at 
Taj,  his  narrative  becomes  very  disjointed.  He  was 
moved  to  another  place  before  being  allowed  to  leave  the 
oasis.  He  himself  thinks  it  was  Jof,  but  from  his 
description  of  the  journey  this  seems  impossible.  He 
spent  another  fortnight  under  the  surveillance  of  Korayim 
— he  tells  us  that  he  was  not  allowed  to  move  without 
a  guard  of  twenty  rifles — during  which  he  seems  to  have 
confronted  every  form  of  extortion  and  threat  with  calm 
and  intrepidity.  On  September  27  he  left  the  oasis  with 
Korayim,  who  took  him  all  the  way  to  Benghazi,  where, 
unfortunately,  the  sheikh  died.  Consequently  there  is  a 
legend  that  Rohlfs  poisoned  him.  With  experience  of 
the  greed  of  our  own  escort,  I  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  grateful  German  probably  gave  him  too  much 
of  his  own  cherished  stores  and  the  Arab  over-ate! 

After  this  ill-fated  expedition  no  alien  presence  cast 
a  shadow  on  the  sanctity  and  isolation  of  Kufara  till 
Sayed  Ahmed  sent  his  prisoner  there.  Many  attempts 
were  made  from  Siwa  to  pierce  the  first  barrier  of  dunes, 
but  in  vain.  The  secrets  which  Rohlfs  had  so  nearly 
solved  remained  wrapped  in  the  mirage  of  the  great 
deserts  and  Kufara  was  still  a  legend  more  than  a  fact. 

The  amicable  relations  at  present  existing  between 
Italy  and  the  Senussi,  and  the  genuine  friendship  of 
Senator  de  Martino  and  Sayed  Idris  made  it  easy  for 
us  to  reach  Jedabia  as  the  guests  of  the  former's  most 
hospitable  Government,  but  thenceforth  it  was  left  us  to 
fend  for  ourselves.  We  could  not  take  our  kindly  hosts 
of  Benghazi  into  our  confidence,  as  they  would  have 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE  19 

been  aghast  at  the  idea  of  a  young  woman  venturing  alone 
into  a  territory  as  yet  unexplored.  The  agreement  that 
had  just  been  signed  with  Sidi  Idris  gave  them  control 
of  the  whole  of  Cyrenaica,  thus  assuring  a  future  of  great 
prosperity  to  the  colony,  but  it  left  the  great  Libyan 
desert  from  Aujela  to  Jaghabub,  with  Kufara  still  an- 
other six  hundred  kilometres  to  the  south,  in  the  hands  of 
Sayed  Idris  as  an  independent  ruler  under  Italian 
protection. 

A  most  humorous  complication  added  immensely  to 
our  difficulties.  Hassanein  Bey,  having  been  secretary 
to  the  Italo-British  Mission  which  arranged  the  treaty 
of  1916  with  the  Senussi,  was  promptly  suspected  of  the 
darkest  Pan-Islamic  designs.  For  a  week  at  Benghazi 
we  lived  in  a  state  of  suspense.  Intrigue  was  in  the  air 
and  everyone  suspected  the  motives  of  everyone  else.  If 
a  camion  broke  down,  we  decided  that  we  were  not  to  be 
allowed  to  reach  Jedabia.  If  Hassanein  spoke  to  a 
Beduin,  using  the  Moslem  salutation,  the  eyes  of  our 
so-called  interpreter  would  almost  pop  out  of  his  head 
with  interest  and  dismay.  Relays  of  kindly  individuals 
took  the  utmost  interest  in  our  history,  plans,  ideas  and 
belongings.  We  were  "pumped"  until  we  could  not  think 
of  anything  more  to  say;  and  we,  in  turn  "pumped" 
every  hospitable  and  amiable  individual  who  politely 
and  indifferently  asked  us  our  destination!  At  times  we 
must  have  worn  such  strained  and  agonised  expres- 
sions that  I  wonder  we  were  not  suspected  of  Bolshevism 
at  the  very  least.  The  most  amusing  part  of  the  busi- 
ness was  afforded  by  the  spies  who  constantly  surrounded 
us  and  who  were  so  thrilled  with  their  own  importance 
that  I  used  to  have  daily  fights  with  Hassanein  Bey  to 
prevent  him  playing  delightful  little  comedies  to  excite 
them  still  more. 

However,  once  Jedabia  was  reached  we  felt  happier. 


20     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

The  open  desert  lay  before  us  and  the  lure  of  the  great 
tracks  south!  Somewhere  far  beyond  the  pale  mauve 
line  of  the  horizon  lay  the  secret  of  the  Sahara,  the  oasis 
which  had  become  the  goal  of  every  explorer,  from  the 
enthusiastic  coastguard  officers  who  dreamed  of  forcing  a 
trotting  hajin  through  the  sands,  to  the  governments 
whose  camions  and  light-car  patrols  had  failed  to  pierce 
the  waterless  drifts.  The  masked  Tuaregs,  those  lawless 
riders  who  threaten  the  lumbering  south-bound  caravans, 
bring  strange  tales  of  a  white  race,  blue-eyed,  fair-haired, 
whose  women  live  unveiled  with  their  men.  Legend 
has  attributed  its  home  to  the  mysterious  oasis  whose 
position  varies  according  to  the  whims  of  the  map-maker. 
"Inshallah"  I  breathed  to  the  stars  and  the  winds! 


CHAPTER  II 

PLANS  FOR  THE  FLIGHT 

I  WENT  to  sleep  beside  a  glassless  window  opening 
into  an  empty  yard,  after  wondering  whether  we 
should  be  able  to  buy  necessary  food  in  the  suq,  or 
whether  we  should  have  to  break  into  our  hoarded 
provisions.  I  woke  to  a  busy  scene  and  rubbed  my  eyes 
in  amazement.  In  one  corner  was  a  white  bell-tent, 
from  which  came  the  smoke  of  a  charcoal  fire.  In 
another  was  tethered  an  excellent  horse  with  a  European 
saddle.  Half  a  dozen  servants  appeared  occupied  in 
preparing  an  immense  meal.  I  called  to  Hassanein  Bey : 
"Where  on  earth  did  you  get  all  this?" 

"I?"  he  replied,  bewildered.  "I?  It  is  all  from 
Sayed  Rida.  Do  you  realise  that  that  horse  is  going  to 
stay  here  for  you  to  ride  whenever  you  like,  that  the 
tent  is  a  fully  equipped  kitchen  and  that  you've  got  a 
cook  and  I  don't  know  how  many  servants  besides?  You 
mentioned  you  liked  dates  last  night.  Well,  a  huge  sack 
arrived  this  morning,  and  meat,  and  bread,  and  tea,  and 
sugar,  and  heavens  know  what  beside.  We  are  the 
Sayed's  guests  and  for  the  Lord's  sake  don't  say  you 
like  anything  else,  or  it  will  arrive  here  within  an  hour!'* 
He  paused  for  breath,  while  I  gazed  at  him  helplessly. 
When  one  has  come  from  an  Italian  colony  one  is  used 
to  hospitality,  for,  from  the  Governor  downwards,  every- 
one was  amazingly  kind  to  us,  but  this  was  overwhelm- 
ing. I  felt  that  a  whole  garden  of  floral  rhetoric  would 
not  adequately  express  my  gratitude. 

21 


22     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

We  rode  out  through  the  deserted  stretches  of  flat 
white  rock  and  sand  to  see  great  herds  of  camels  being 
watered.  Bronze  figures,  nude  but  for  a  scarlet  loin 
cloth,  shouted  and  sang  with  monotonous  rhythm  as  they 
let  down  goatskins  at  the  end  of  a  rope  and  heaved  them 
up  brimming  to  pour  their  contents  into  rough  troughs, 
A  white  morabit  and  single  palm  marked  the  centre  of 
a  cluster  of  sand-coloured  houses.  Otherwise,  the  build- 
ings were  scattered  over  a  broad  expanse  with  a  straight 
line  of  the  suq  booths  in  the  centre.  We  created  so  much 
sensation  in  the  latter  that  I  decided  that  my  grey  riding 
coat  and  felt  hat  were  out  of  place.  We  told  Mustapha, 
a  resplendent  individual  belonging  to  one  of  the  irregular 
bands,  whom  the  Political  Officer  at  Benghazi  had  kindly 
lent  to  us,  to  go  and  discover  someone  who  wished  to 
sell  some  native  clothes.  He  returned  half  an  hour  later 
with  a  baffled  and  at  the  same  time  awed  expression,  in 
company  with  Sayed  Rida's  confident,  whose  coal-black 
face  looked  out  from  the  folds  of  an  immense  white 
kufiya.  "You  are  the  Sayed's  guests,"  the  latter  in- 
formed us  respectfully.  "Anything  that  you  need  I  will 
get  for  you  at  once."  Gravely  he  offered  me  a  bulky 
parcel.  It  contained  the  most  beautiful  white  silk  jerd, 
striped  like  the  one  I  had  silently  admired  the  previous 
night,  with  a  green  and  silver  agal,  and  a  kufiya  that  filled 
my  heart  with  joy,  for  it  was  a  subdued  blending  of  all 
rich  colours — purple  and  rose  and  blue  on  a  silver  ground, 
with  long  dropping  tassels.  There  was  also  a  tarboush 
and  a  pair  of  wonderful  yellow  slippers.  Before  the 
faltering  words  were  out  of  my  mouth,  Hassanein  Bey 
had  pounced  upon  the  yellow  slippers.  His  expression 
was  that  of  a  small  child  when  a  much-loved  doll  has  been 
restored  to  it.  "Hamdulillah !"  he  exclaimed,  and  fled, 
clutching  his  prize. 

I  confess  to  spending  a  happy  half-hour  struggling 


PLANS  FOR  THE  FLIGHT  23 

with  the  intricacies  of  the  jerd  and  picturing  myself 
dressed  in  Sayed  Rida's  splendid  gift  offering  sweet 
mint  tea  to  reverend  sheikhs.  Thereafter  we  erased  any 
verbs  expressive  of  desire  from  our  vocabulary,  but  we 
did  not  succeed  in  evading  our  host's  royal  generosity. 
We  wanted  a  couple  of  small  sacks  into  which  to  put 
a  week's  supply  of  rice  and  flour,  for  once  we  left 
Jedabia  we  should  have  seven  or  eight  days'  journey 
to  the  next  oasis,  and  we  planned  to  send  the  baggage 
camels  ahead  and  ride  light  on  the  fastest  beasts  we  could 
find.  With  this  intention  we  again  despatched  the 
brightly  clad  Mustapha  to  the  suq.  Ten  minutes  later 
he  was  brought  firmly  back  by  the  Head  of  the  Police, 
a  stalwart  black  with  a  hard,  keen  face.  Our  follower 
was  protesting  wildly,  but  to  deaf  ears,  for  behind  him 
came  the  ebony  confidant,  Haji  Abdel  Salam.  "I  will 
send  you  the  sacks,"  he  told  me  in  the  tone  of  a  parent 
scolding  a  foolish  child.  "The  Sayed  wishes  to  give  you 
everything  you  can  need."  Even  Hassanein  Bey's  elo- 
quence failed  him,  while  I  wondered  if  we  were  living  in 
one  of  the  tales  of  the  Arabian  Nights. 

Our  peace,  however,  was  short-lived.  For  the  first 
few  days  at  Jedabia  we  were  in  a  fool's  paradise.  All 
round  us  lay  the  desert.  It  seemed  so  easy  a  thing  to 
hire  a  few  camels  and  a  guide  and  disappear  over  the 
rim  of  the  horizon.  By  the  fourth  day  we  had  discovered 
a  few  of  the  most  important  difficulties.  Firstly,  there 
were  no  camels.  There  had  been  an  excellent  harvest. 
The  Beduin  was  rich  and  he  didn't  want  to  work.  It  was 
impossible  to  explain  the  exact  destination  of  the  caravan, 
for  the  Holy  Oasis  is  far  beyond  the  bourne  of  most 
camel-drivers'  dreams.  Secondly,  all  work  had  to  be 
done  in  secret,  because  the  whole  of  our  household  were 
spies  with  the  possible  exception  of  the  black  cook,  All. 
Mustapha  had  been  in  the  Ufficio  Politico  and  he 


24     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

dutifully  reported  the  minutest  of  our  doings.  The  Head 
of  the  Police,  the  stalwart  Mabruk,  was  also  not  averse 
to  Latin  gold,  so  he  placed  his  brother  to  watch  us  as 
horse-boy  and,  lest  that  were  not  sufficient,  he  sent  us 
a  mysterious  servant  whose  head  appeared  suddenly  at 
the  glassless  window  whenever  Hassanein  Bey  and  I  were 
studying  the  Koran  or  writing  notes.  We  were  never 
able  to  relax  our  vigilance  for  a  second.  We  used  to  hold 
long  Arabic  conversations  on  how  pleasant  we  found  life 
in  Jedabia,  how  we  must  certainly  stay  there  a  fortnight 
before  returning  to  Benghazi.  We  knew  that  every  word 
would  be  overheard  and  repeated. 

Bazaar  rumour  spoilt  our  first  plan,  which  was  exceed- 
ingly simple.  We  meant  to  persuade  an  ekhwan  to 
accompany  us  to  see  some  neighbouring  village,  where 
there  would  be  a  suppositional  marriage  or  other  festa, 
and  from  there  drift  on.  We  had  not  reckoned  with  the 
fanaticism  of  the  Moslem.  Tales  of  a  wealthy  Christian 
woman  about  to  travel  into  the  interior  spread  like  a 
bush-fire.  Mustapha  came  to  me  with  lurid  tales  of 
throats  cut  almost  within  sight  of  the  suq.  Sayed  Rida 
Ivmself  explained  that  no  Christian  life  was  safe  beyond 
the  boundaries  of  Cyrenaica,  and  that  anyone*  supposed 
to  have  money  was  a  marked  prey  for  the  lawless  bands 
who  swept  out  of  the  desert,  seized  their  prey  and  dis- 
appeared into  the  limitless  sands  as  ants  upon  an  English 
lawn.  We  learnt  many  things  that  day.  We  discovered 
that  Mannismann,  the  German,  had  been  killed  by  his 
own  Arab  guard  a  few  hours  outside  the  town  because 
he  had  twelve  thousand  pounds  in  gold  upon  him.  We 
heard  that  the  Tebu  tribes  of  the  group  of  oases  erro- 
neously known  as  Kufra  (really  Kufara)  have  not 
entirely  submitted  to  the  Senussi  rule  and,  consequently, 
still  attack  any  caravans  travelling  beyond  Taiserbo. 
"But  I  don't  understand,"  I  said.  "Taiserbo  is  part  of 


PLANS  FOR  THE  FLIGHT  35 

Kufara,  isn't  it?  It  is  marked  so  in  our  maps."  "No! 
No!"  replied  our  informant  impatiently.  "Taiserbo  is 
gareeb,  gareeb  [near].  You  can  go  there  easily.  It  is 
not  important.  There  is  no  sikka  [way].  Kufara  is 
much  farther  on.  The  dangerous  part  is  after  Taiserbo. 
If  you  go  to  Buseima  you  may  have  to  fight." 

Thereafter  we  began  a  laborious,  systematic  campaign 
to  correct  the  impression  of  a  rich  Christian  woman.  I 
discarded  my  hat  for  the  Sayed's  beautiful  kufiya.  Early 
and  late  I  could  be  heard  reciting  verses  of  the  Koran. 
I  already  knew  all  the  obligatory  prayers,  and  took  care 
to  perform  them  minutely.  Moreover,  we  used  to 
wander  through  the  Beduin  camps  which  fringed  Jeda- 
bia,  talking  to  the  women  and  gradually  gaining  their 
confidence.  At  first  we  were  regarded  with  the  ut- 
most suspicion,  which  gradually  relaxed  as  we  gave 
them  Moslem  salutations  and  told  them  how  happy  we 
were  to  be  living  an  Arab  life  among  Arabs.  If  a  sheikh, 
a  Haji,  came  to  us,  I  used  to  murmur  the  "Shehada"  to 
him:  "Ash  hadu  ilia  Illaha  ill  Allah  wa  ash  hadu  inna 
Mohammedan  rasul  Allah,"  upon  which  he  generally 
blessed  me  warmly.  After  a  few  days  I  was  greeted 
enthusiastically  and  introduced  to  the  solemn-faced  babies 
adorned  with  silver  amulets  and  taught  how  to  bake  flat, 
heavy  bread  in  mud  ovens. 

It  is  amazing  how  perfect  is  the  wireless  telegraphy 
system  of  the  desert.  One  night,  dining  with  Sayed 
Rida,  I  remarked  that  I  was  so  glad  there  was  no  electric 
light  and  that  I  liked  the  local  colouring  and  primitive 
lighting  effect  in  Arab  houses.  This  was  translated  into 
the  bazaar  into,  "She  is  a  Moslem.  She  hates  all  Euro- 
pean things.  She  wants  to  keep  the  old  customs  as  our 
fathers  had  them." 

We  knew  our  campaign  had  succeeded  on  the  eighth 
day,  when,  after  the  chief  spy,  despairing  of  getting  a 


26     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

glimpse  of  us  any  other  way,  had  brought  us  as  a  gift 
an  absurd  black  bird  with  a  bald  head,  a  brother  of  Ali, 
the  cook,  arrived  from  his  camel's-hair  tent.  He  greeted 
us  kindly  and  told  us  that  the  Beduins  were  in  sympathy 
with  us,  that  they  knew  we  were  Moslems  and  of  their 
own  blood. 

Thus  we  felt  we  had  done  something  to  dispose  of 
the  probability  of  sudden  death  before  we  were  a  hundred 
kilometres  on  our  way,  but  all  other  arrangements  lagged 
intolerably.  The  most  venerable  and  respected  of  all 
the  ekhwan,  Haji  Fetater,  who  had  done  the  great  jour- 
ney right  through  Kuf  ara  to  Wadai,  was  the  one  man  who 
could  probably  help  us  on  our  way.  He  was  of  the 
Mojabra  tribe  and  he  so  loathed  the  "Nasrani"  that 
he  would  not  be  in  the  same  room  as  a  Christian.  I  do 
not  know  whether  it  was  Hassanein  Bey's  eloquence, 
or  his  sudden  discovery  that  Sidi  es  Senussi  himself 
had  prophesied  that  the  English  would  eventually  be  con- 
verted to  Islam  that  finally  induced  him  to  promise  to 
accompany  us.  "We  are  all  servants  of  the  Sayed. 
Only  if  he  tells  me  to  go,  must  I  go,"  he  said,  but  when 
the  prophecy  had  aroused  his  enthusiasm,  he  flung  back 
his  splendid  grey  head.  "I  will  protect  her,"  he  ex- 
claimed; "I  will  take  her  to  Kuf  ara,  and  she  shall  kiss 
the  holy  qubba  and  be  a  Moslem!" 

He  was  eighty  years  old,  but  he  determined  instantly 
that  he  would  run  the  whole  caravan  and  generally 
instruct  us  in  the  art  of  desert  travelling.  He  had  caught 
but  a  glimpse  of  me  as  I  was  hurried  from  the  house  in 
case  my  presence  therein  should  pollute  him.  He  can 
only  have  seen  an  exceedingly  shy  young  person,  with 
respectfully  downcast  eyes,  in  a  pale  blue  tweed  suit 
huddled  on  a  ridiculously  small  pony,  dangling  a  swollen 
foot  in  a  native  slipper,  but  he  luckily  took  it  into 
his  head  that  he  liked  me.  Hassanein  Bey  rapidly 


PLANS  FOR  THE  FLIGHT  27 

clinched  his  acceptance  by  repeating  the  "Fatha,"  the 
opening  "sura"  of  the  Koran.  This  is  only  done  on 
very  important  and  solemn  occasions  and  it  constitutes 
at  the  same  time  a  blessing  and  an  oath. 

Even  then  our  kindly  host  was  not  satisfied,  but 
insisted  on  sending  an  escort  with  us,  ten  soldiers  of  his 
guard,  coal-black  slaves,  under  a  commander  called  Abdul 
Rahim.  He  also  determined  to  settle  the  vexed  question 
of  camels  once  for  all  by  sending  a  caravan  of  his  own 
to  Kufara  to  bring  back  some  of  his  belongings  and 
allowing  us  to  travel  with  it.  To  anyone  who  does  not 
know  the  East,  it  would  now  appear  that  things  were 
successfully  settled.  Not  a  bit  of  it!  The  soldiers  were 
at  Zuetina,  distant  24  miles.  The  camels  were  at  least 
two  days'  journey  away,  a  matter  of  60  miles.  They 
were  vaguely  described  as  being  in  the  region  of  Antelat, 
the  house  of  Sayed  Rida's  family.  Each  day  we 
watched  the  horizon  with  anxious  eyes.  Each  day  we 
counted  eagerly  every  row  of  black  specks  that  ap- 
peared amidst  the  sun-browned  grass  and  rock,  but 
neither  camels  nor  soldiers  appeared.  We  had  decided 
that  the  caravan  should  announce  its  departure  for  noon 
and  that  in  reality  the  long  line  of  camels  should  steal 
past  our  door  at  3  A.M.  A  few  would  be  driven  round 
a  convenient  wall  and  loaded  hastily  with  all  our  outfit, 
after  which  we  could  mount  and  be  50  kilometres  away 
before  anyone  knew  of  our  departure!  We  could  leave 
letters  explaining  a  sudden  opportunity  and  an  equally 
sudden  determination,  and  send  back  further  notes  from 
every  oasis  en  route. 

Unfortunately,  it  was  a  race  against  time,  for  every- 
one was  growing  suspicious  at  my  inexplicable  desire  to 
stay  so  long  in  a  little  mud  village  on  the  edge  of  the 
world.  Omar,  our  Government  interpreter,  was  deter- 
mined to  get  back  to  Benghazi  for  Christmas.  The 


28     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

delightful  cavalry  lieutenant  who  was  political  officer  at 
Zuetina  was  naturally  bored  at  having  to  drive  his  heavy 
camion  three  or  four  times  a  week  from  his  little  camp 
by  the  ocean  to  see  what  a  mysterious  Englishwoman 
might  be  doing  in  the  debatable  country  on  the  fringe 
of  civilisation.  As  the  days  wore  on  they  tried  by  every 
means  in  their  power  to  lure  me  from  Jedabia,  but  my 
exceedingly  swollen  foot  did  me  good  service.  "The 
stirrup  hurt  it  so  much  riding  here  that  I  don't  want  to 
risk  it  again  till  it  is  quite  recovered,"  I  explained. 
They  suggested  camions,  and  I  assured  them  I  had  so 
much  work  to  do  that  I  was  only  too  glad  of  the  peace 
and  quiet  of  my  Arab  house  to  do  it  in. 

It  was  a  ludicrous  situation.  Five  young  people  used 
to  forgather  in  the  house  of  the  doctor  to  partake  of 
M.  Omar's  delicious  zdbagliones,  and  not  one  of  them 
ever  uttered  one  word  of  truth!  Each  felt  instinctively 
that  the  other  was  lying,  but  none  knew  exactly  how 
far  he  was  bluffing  or  what  card  he  had  up  his  sleeve. 
Perhaps  we  were  a  little  better  off  than  they,  for  we 
knew  their  game  and  they  luckily  had  failed  to  under- 
stand ours.  The  political  aspect  was  always  before  their 
eyes.  In  their  anxiety  to  know  whether  Hassanein 
Bey  was  plotting  a  Pan-Islamic  empire  with  the  thirty 
Egyptian  ex-coastguards  who  had  taken  refuge  with 
the  Senussi  during  the  war,  they  overlooked  other  possi- 
bilities. I  think  the  idea  did  occur  to  them  that  I 
wanted  to  go  much  farther  into  the  desert  than  they 
cared  to  permit,  but  I  doubt  if  they  suspected  our  real 
goal.  This  used  to  surprise  me  immensely  at  the  time. 
Looking  back,  I  realise  that  it  would  have  been  very 
difficult  for  them  to  imagine  that  the  woman  they  saw 
in  a  panniered  frock,  with  her  French  hat  veiled  in 
drooping  lace  and  high  heels  to  match  the  red  of  her 
striped  cloak,  would  metamorphose  herself  into  a  Beduin 


PLANS  FOR  THE  FLIGHT  29 

and  attempt  a  journey  which  they  looked  upon  as  im- 
possible for  a  European  and  exceedingly  difficult  even 
for  an  Arab. 

We  felt  that  we  had  one  last  card  to  play  that  they 
would  never  suspect — a  midnight  flight.  We  were  loathe 
to  use  it,  however.  We  waited  patiently  for  the  camels 
that  did  not  come,  and  fenced  desperately  for  time. 
Luckily  our  opponents  were  deceived  by  the  apparent 
froideur  existing  between  Hassanein  Bey  and  myself. 
We  had  made  a  point  of  disagreeing  with  each  other 
at  every  possible  opportunity  and  even  retailed  our 
grievances  occasionally  to  sympathetic  ears.  Suddenly, 
therefore,  they  took  my  companion  into  their  confidence, 
which  made  things  distinctly  easier.  Together  they  used 
to  lay  dark  plots  to  induce  me  to  leave  Jedabia,  where 
there  was  no  cafe  chantcmt  and  no  "Hotel  Nobile!" 
In  spite,  however,  of  this  new  move,  we  began  to  get 
very  anxious.  The  spies  had  redoubled  their  vigilance. 
There  were  no  signs  of  camels.  Mabruk,  the  Head  of 
the  Police,  introduced  a  person  into  our  house  whom  he 
said  was  an  ekhwan  from  Kufara,  evidently  intending 
that  we  should  question  him  enthusiastically  about  his 
journey.  We  refrained  from  all  mention  of  it,  and  the 
supposed  ekhwan  was  so  intensely  stupid  that  one  cannot 
imagine  that  he  could  have  been  much  use  to  any  secret 
service ! 

This  was  our  position  on  December  4  when,  on  our 
morning's  wander  round  the  neighbouring  encampments, 
we  saw  a  line  of  camels  coming  in  from  Antelat.  We 
instantly  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  they  were  ours. 
One  of  the  spies  was  leading  the  horse  on  which  I  was 
balanced  sideways  to  protect  my  lame  foot,  so  we  could 
show  no  signs  of  joy,  but  for  a  few  hours  we  made  happy 
plans  for  the  freedom  of  the  desert.  We  had  just 
finished  a  lunch  of  rice,  dates,  mutton  and  mint  tea 


30     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

when  the  blow  fell.  The  black  wazir  arrived  in  consider- 
able perturbation.  Not  only  was  there  no  news  of  our 
camels  or  of  our  soldiers,  but  our  opponents  were  well 
aware  that  a  caravan  was  starting  for  Kufara  in  a  few 
days'  time  and  that  we  hoped  to  travel  with  it  "for  a 
day  or  two."  Hassanein  turned  to  me  with  blazing  eyes 
in  a  chalk  white  face.  "It's  come  to  a  fight,"  he  said, 
"and  I'm  glad."  I  used  to  be  amused  sometimes  at 
the  way  he  shirked  doing  the  simplest  things  till  the 
last  moment,  but  in  sudden  emergencies  the  whole 
strength  and  energy  of  the  man  flamed  out  and  there 
was  no  one  in  the  world  I  would  rather  have  beside  me. 
He  grasped  essentials  rapidly  and  left  me  to  fill  in  details. 
"It's  flight  on  two  camels  and  the  caravan  must  follow!" 
he  said.  As  usual,  I  started  to  work  out  the  practical 
possibilities  while  he  went  to  gain  further  news. 

I  think  I  shall  always  remember  that  long  dragging 
afternoon.  The  wind  was  full  of  dust,  but  I  took  the 
pony  and  went  down  to  one  of  the  encampments  feeling 
I  simply  could  not  smile.  I  felt  hopeless  and  trapped 
as  if  a  net  were  closing  round  me  and  there  was  a  numb 
dead  ache  at  my  heart.  Nevertheless  I  could  not  help 
responding  to  the  smiles  of  the  Beduin  women  who 
pressed  round  me,  brilliant  blots  of  colour  in  their  orange 
and  black,  or  red  and  black  barracans,  with  blue  tribe 
marks  tattoed  on  their  foreheads  and  half  a  dozen 
huge  silver  ear-rings  dangling  beneath  their  plaited  hair. 
One  laughed  at  my  white  hands  against  her  black  skin. 
"You  have  soap  to  wash  with.  We  have  none,"  she 
said.  The  lounging  white  figures  in  the  suq  stared  at 
me  curiously  as  I  passed,  but  did  not  protest.  They 
had  stoned  a  "Christian  dog"  from  Zuetina  the  day 
before,  but  I  was  the  Sayed's  guest  and  therefore 
honoured.  A  dignified  sheikh  gave  me  greeting.  He 
was  a  Haji  and  he  told  me:  "We  are  all  under  the 


PLANS  FOR  THE  FLIGHT  31 

Sayed's  orders.  You  may  go  safely  where  you  like 
among  us,  for  it  is  the  Sayed's  wish."  Mustapha  listened 
eagerly.  "It  is  true,"  he  said.  "The  Sayed  is  great. 
All  the  people  fear  him.  Otherwise  they  would  kill  every 
Christian  in  the  country." 

I  began  to  realise  the  vast  problem  with  which  Italy 
is  faced  and  to  admire  more  than  ever  the  way  she  is 
dealing  with  it.  For  the  moment  Europe  has  no  message 
for  the  fierce  fanatics  of  Libya,  but  the  fertile  altipiano 
of  Cyrenaica,  only  a  few  miles  from  the  sea,  will  have  a 
prosperous  future.  Italian  workmen  have  done  so  much 
to  build  up  the  prosperity  of  Egypt  and  Tunis.  There 
is  a  wide  field  opening  for  them  from  Zuetina  to  Tobruk 
in  which  their  industry  and  thrift  may  benefit  their  own 
country.  Cyrenaica,  once  the  granary  of  the  Roman 
Empire,  will  be  fittingly  colonised  by  the  descendants 
of  those  legionaries  who  left  their  trace  from  Cyrene 
to  far-off  Misda.  The  budding  colony  should  have  a 
splendid  agricultural  future  and  the  friendship  between 
Italy  and  the  Senussi,  recently  cemented  at  Regima, 
should  open  up  the  old  trans-Saharan  caravan  routes. 
The  Sultan  used  to  confide  his  most  precious  merchandise 
to  the  protection  of  Sidi  Ben  AH  es  Senussi  on  its  long 
journeys  to  Wadai.  Why  should  not  the  same  arrange- 
ment be  made  between  the  Governor  of  Cyrenaica  and 
the  hereditary  Emir  of  the  Senussi? 

The  sun  was  setting  as  I  left  the  suq,  a  blaze  of  deep, 
flaming  orange  that  we  never  see  in  Europe.  The  sky 
was  molten  in  the  crucible.  I  sent  away  the  pony  and 
sat  crouched  on  the  sand  to  watch  the  glory  fade.  A 
camel  or  two  passed  like  huge  distorted  shadows  across 
the  burning  west.  A  few  white  shrouded  figures  went 
by  me  with  a  soft  "Bismillah!"  I  ached  for  a  horse, 
a  camel,  anything  that  would  take  me  away  into  the 
wide  spaces  beyond  Jedabia.  The  strain  of  suspense 


32     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

eased  a  little  in  the  evening,  for  during  one  of  our  games 
of  cross  purpose  at  the  doctor's  house  we  discovered 
that  our  opponents  proposed  to  prevent  our  accompany- 
ing the  caravan  on  the  ground  that  no  ekhwan  was 
going  with  it.  Apparently  they  still  did  not  suspect  our 
ultimate  destination,  but  we  were  not  at  all  certain  that 
they  had  not  wired  for  the  camions  from  Benghazi.  We 
sat  up  late  that  night  in  the  silent  court  with  the  stars 
above  us,  and  the  guardian  walls,  which  I  had  learned 
to  love,  shutting  out  all  eavesdroppers.  The  spies  re- 
tired in  a  body  after  our  frugal  dinner  and  Ali  was 
always  thankful  to  spend  the  night  in  the  family  tent. 
We  decided  on  a  simple  but  somewhat  desperate  plan. 
We  felt  that  we  should  be  allowed  only  two  or  three 
more  days  in  Jedabia  without  an  open  fight,  and  we 
could  not  be  certain  of  the  twenty  camels  necessary  for 
the  caravan.  Therefore  we  decided  to  leave  practically 
all  our  luggage  behind  and  go  off  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  if  possible,  with  the  ekhwan.  Our  little  world 
would  be  told  next  morning  that  we  had  gone  to  visit 
some  of  the  neighbouring  camps  and  would  return  in  a 
day  or  two.  To  reassure  them  they  would  see  all  our 
clothes  hanging  up  on  their  usual  pegs,  most  of  our  suit- 
cases scattered  about  the  room,  our  sacks  and  boxes  of 
provisions  stored  in  various  corners,  even  my  camp  chair 
and  the  table  on  which  I  wrote. 

On  December  6  we  did  a  hard  morning's  work. 
After  our  date  and  egg  breakfast  we  settled  ourselves 
with  a  Koran  and  note-books  behind  closed  doors  and 
said  we  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed.  As  soon  as  our 
retinue  had  retired  to  the  white  bell-tent  which  served 
as  kitchen  we  set  to  work  on  the  provision  boxes.  We 
emptied  them  of  their  contents  and  carefully  filled  them 
with  immense  stones  which  we  laboriously  collected  from 
an  inner  court  in  course  of  construction.  On  top  we 


AHMED   MOHAMMED  BEY    HASSAXEIX.   MY  FELLOW   EXPLORER 


SAYL1)    IMIJA    FS    SKNL'SSI 


PLANS  FOR  THE  FLIGHT  33 

put  layers  of  straw  and  a  few  tins  which  could  be  seen 
through  carefully  arranged  chinks.  We  sorted  out  an 
extra  week's  provisions  to  add  to  those  we  had  already 
prepared  and  the  rest  we  put  into  big  sacks,  with  the 
intention  of  sending  these  latter  at  midnight,  when  the 
spies  were  sleeping  peacefully,  to  some  place  where  they 
could  be  stored  until  the  dilatory  camels  arrived  and  the 
caravan  started.  They  would  then  be  packed  unosten- 
tatiously with  all  the  rest  of  the  loads  and  when  we 
joined  the  caravan  a  few  days'  journey  on  the  way  to 
Aujela  we  should  recover  our  most  necessary  provisions. 
We  ourselves,  with  the  tent,  two  rolls  of  bedding,  a 
fortnight's  provisions  and  two  suit-cases  chiefly  contain- 
ing films,  medicine,  apparatus,  candles,  soap,  etc.,  would 
disappear  the  following  night  in  Beduin  clothes. 

I  confess  to  feeling  a  certain  pang  when  I  realised 
that  I  must  leave  every  single  European  garment  behind 
except  a  pair  of  riding  boots  and  breeches  and  a  woollen 
sweater.  Hassanein  said  he  thought  it  was  carrying 
realism  too  far.  I  understood  the  reason  when,  sternly 
insisting  that  his  one  suit-case  should  hold  half  the 
apparatus  and  only  the  simplest  necessities  of  life,  it 
disgorged  seven  different  coloured  bottles  of  eau  de 
Cologne  and  a  mass  of  heterogeneous  attire  more  suited 
to  Bond  Street  than  to  the  Sahara.  I  had  to  superintend 
the  packing  lest  he  ignore  the  claims  of  malted  milk 
tablets,  towels  and  woollen  underclothing  in  favour  of 
delicately  striped  shirts  and  a  lavender  silk  dressing-gown ! 
We  wondered  if  we  should  ever  see  again  the  garments 
we  left  gracefully  decorating  the  walls  in  order  to  indicate 
the  imminence  of  our  return,  or  whether  a  new  fashion 
would  be  set  in  Jedabia! 

At  lunch  time  the  tailor  came  to  fit  my  strange 
garments.  It  appeared  that  Sayed  Rida  wished  to  give 
me  no  fewer  than  four  suits,  but  I  assured  him  that  I 


34,     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

wanted  only  one  to  be  photographed  in  and  to  show 
my  friends  in  England.  We  finally  compromised  on 
two,  one  of  which  arrived  that  evening,  an  oddly  shaped 
pair  of  trousers,  very  narrow  at  the  ankle,  made  of  white 
calico  spotted  with  green  leaves,  and  a  dress  like  a 
voluminous  chemise  of  dark  red  cotton  with  a  blue 
pattern.  We  were  told  that  the  camels  were  ready  but 
that  the  ekhwan  was  already  regretting  his  moment  of 
enthusiasm.  "Will  he  be  ready  to  start  to-morrow  at 
midnight?"  "Inshallah!"  was  all  the  answer  we  got. 
Our  plan  was  so  simple,  but  it  depended  on  two  nights' 
secrecy  and  secrecy  is  impossible  among  Arabs! 

However,  we  pretended  not  to  worry.  "El  Maktub 
maktub!"  we  said,  but  I  caught  Hassanein  anxiously 
opening  the  Koran  to  see  whether  a  verse  chosen  at 
random  would  prove  a  good  omen.  He  was  delighted 
because  the  first  one  he  saw  read:  "Nasrun  min  Allalii 
wa  fathan  garib"  ("Victory  and  an  opening  out  from 
Allah  are  near").  I  was  not  very  much  more  composed 
myself,  for  on  repeating  the  long  formal  prayers  that 
afternoon  I  realised  from  my  companion's  horrified  face 
that  I  was  ascribing  unto  Allah  salutations,  prayers  and 
—physics!  (Tabiat  instead  of  ta-hi-bat.) 

Sayed  Rida  took  us  for  a  drive  in  his  car  in  the 
afternoon.  There  are  no  roads  or  even  tracks  beyond 
Jedabia,  but  the  sand  is  hard  and  smooth.  The  Sayed 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  show  himself  openly 
with  us,  and  indeed,  our  fame  increased  after  that  drive. 
When  we  returned  the  whole  of  our  household  had 
attired  itself  in  clean  white  garments  and  there  was 
an  awed  moment  while  they  all  reverently  kissed  the 
Senussi's  hand.  They  dared  not  approach  very  close  to 
do  it,  lest  their  garments  touch  their  holy  master,  but 
it  was  wonderful  to  see  the  worship  and  homage  they 
put  into  the  act.  They  were  chattels  in  the  hand  of  the 


PLANS  FOR  THE  FLIGHT  35 

Sayed.  As  wakil  of  Sidi  Idris  he  represented  to  them, 
as  he  does  to  thousands  like  them,  the  mystic  being 
chosen  by  Allah  to  direct  them.  Their  lives  are  his  to 
command.  He  is  their  supreme  judge  as  he  is  their 
defender  and  their  guide.  It  is  difficult  for  a  European 
to  realise  the  power  held  by  the  Senussi  family,  for  there 
has  been  nothing  approaching  it  in  Europe.  It  is  a 
reflection  of  the  temporal  and  spiritual  Papacy  at  its 
height.  For  instance,  Sidi  Idris  might  order  one  of  the 
oldest  and  noblest  ekhwan  to  start  the  following  day 
for  a  two-thousand-mile  journey  to  Lake  Chad,  and  he 
would  obey  unquestioningly,  without  preparation  or  even 
surprise.  "We  are  the  servants  of  the  Sayed,"  he  would 
say  as  he  wrapped  his  burnus  round  him  and  prepared  to 
face  the  waterless  sands. 

When  we  decided  on  flight  as  the  only  possible 
means  of  leaving  Jedabia,  we  asked  Sayed  Rida  for  a 
guide.  He  gave  us  Yusuf  el  Hamri  and  Mohammed 
Quemish  and,  calling  them  into  our  presence,  he  told 
them  that  if  anything  happened  to  us,  whether  by  their 
fault  or  not,  they  would  die  immediately.  The  men 
accepted  the  statement  as  undoubted  fact.  Yet  as  Sayed 
Rida  sat  in  our  only  camp  chair  in  my  big  bare  room, 
drinking  sweet  tea  and  eating  Hassanein's  last  macaroons, 
it  was  difficult  to  realise  that  the  fate  of  a  country  prob- 
ably lay  in  his  capable  hands.  The  Sayed  might  declare 
a  Holy  War  to-morrow  against  the  infidels,  and  Islam, 
from  Wajanga  to  the  Mediterranean,  might  respond,  but 
that  afternoon  our  host  talked  with  the  simplicity  of  a 
child.  We  were  trying  to  thank  him  for  his  amazing 
hospitality  and  for  the  permission  he  had  given  us  to  travel 
to  Egypt  by  way  of  the  great  desert,  which  included  the 
loan  of  camels,  guides  and  an  escort  of  soldiers,  besides 
immense  gifts  of  food  and  native  clothing. 

Coming  from  an  Italian  colony  we  had  become  used 


36     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

to  gracious  hospitality,  but  Sayed  Rida's  generosity  was 
overwhelming.  I  have  travelled  in  half  the  countries 
of  the  world;  I  have  been  the  guest  of  mandarin  and 
boundary  rider,  or  rajah,  Fijian  ras  and  North- West 
Mounted  Police  and  of  every  intermediate  race  and  grade, 
but  I  have  never  received  such  generous,  unquestioning 
welcome  as  in  Beduin  countries.  Some  of  the  happiest 
weeks  of  my  life  were  spent  in  Syria  as  the  guest  of  a 
great  Arab  prince.  I  used  to  think  that  nothing  could 
match  his  kindness,  but  here  in  Jedabia  I  found  its 
equal  in  another  descendant  of  the  Prophet,  a  Sherif 
of  Islam. 

We  asked  Sayed  Rida  if  we  could  send  him  anything 
from  Cairo,  our  thoughts  running  to  a  jewel  or  a  golcl 
inlaid  rifle.  He  asked  for  a  green  parrot  and  some 
gramophone  records  with  a  smile  as  delightful  as  his 
brother's. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "my  life  is  rather  lonely.  It 
is  not  wise  that  I  go  out  or  that  I  show  myself  very  much 
to  our  people.  Our  family  is  holy  and  we  must  live  a 
secluded  life.  We  may  not  see  dancing  or  hear  singing. 
Our  people  would  not  understand,  but  sometimes  when 
I  am  alone  late  at  night  I  play  the  gramophone,  for  I  love 
music  very  much."  A  curiously  sweet  smile  illumined 
his  kindly  face  and  he  beat  time  to  an  imaginary  tune 
with  a  jewelled  finger.  "I  do  not  like  much  noise,"  he 
said.  "I  like  the  sad,  soft  melodies  best.  I  think  all 
music  should  be  melancholy." 

For  a  moment  he  was  a  child  thinking  wistfully  of 
a  toy  and  then,  as  Ali  entered  bent  double  with  respect 
over  his  tray  of  tea,  the  Sayed  resumed  the  grave 
dignity  in  keeping  with  his  gorgeous  clothes — a  purple 
embroidered  jelabia  under  an  apple-green  silk  jubba 
with  a  wonderful  crimson  and  blue  kufiya  stiff  with  gold 
thread  and  having  great  tassels  of  gold. 


PLANS  FOR  THE  FLIGHT  37 

Our  busy  day  closed  with  a  most  humorous  scene. 
After  Ali  and  the  spies  had  gone  willingly  to  the  amuse- 
ment or  repose  they  desired,  we  dragged  the  six  heavy 
sacks  of  provisions  one  by  one  out  of  my  room  across 
the  court  to  the  dark  yard  by  the  main  door.  There  was 
no  moon.  Tinned  meat  weighs  incredibly  heavy.  We 
fell  over  a  lot  of  loose  stones  and  we  imagined  we  made 
a  good  deal  of  noise.  The  peculiar  form  of  an  Arab 
dwelling,  however,  precludes  the  possibility  of  being 
overheard.  We  then  dug  stones  and  sand  from  the 
unfinished  bit  of  the  house  and  filled  some  most  realistic 
looking  dummy  sacks  which  we  artistically  arranged  in 
the  place  of  real  ones.  At  11  P.M.  we  got  one  of  those 
unexpected  shocks  that  send  cold  shivers  down  one's 
back  and  desperate  thoughts  to  one's  brain.  There  was 
a  sudden  knock  at  the  door.  It  was  too  soon  for  our 
fellow  plotters  in  search  of  the  luggage.  "Min  da?" 
asked  Hassanein  icily  and  I  felt  the  tautened  thrill  in 
his  voice.  "Mabruk,"  answered  the  voice  of  the  chief 
spy  and  then  a  long  ramble  about  wanting  to  see  the 
native  garments  already  delivered,  to  make  a  pattern  for 
the  others  his  brother  the  tailor  was  making.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  it  was  a  perfectly  genuine  demand.  We 
had  asked  the  confidential  wazir  to  hurry  up  the  making 
of  our  clothes  and  he  had  done  so  to  such  good  effect, 
by  saying  it  was  the  Sayed's  wish,  that  the  unfortunate 
tailor  proposed  to  work  all  night,  but  to  our  apprehen- 
sive ears  it  sounded  very  suspicious.  I  was  glad  that 
Hassanein  had  not  got  a  revolver  on  him.  He  told  me 
afterwards  that  his  first  impulse  had  been  to  shoot  the 
man  and  bury  him  instantly!  Instead  of  which  he 
murmured  that  the  "sitt"  was  in  bed  and  the  magical 
word  which  retards  the  progress  of  Islam.  "Bokra!" 
( To-morrow. ) 

At  1  A.M.  Hassanein,  shrouded  from  head  to  foot  in 


38     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

a  white  jerd,  was  waiting  just  outside  the  main  door. 
A  few  minutes  later  there  was  the  faintest  scratch 
on  the  heavy  wood.  Almost  before  he  had  pulled  it 
open  seven  dark  figures,  muffled  up  to  the  eyes,  utterly 
unrecognisable,  slipped  into  the  yard.  Not  a  word  was 
uttered.  Dexterously  they  shouldered  the  provision  sacks 
and  stepped  away  into  the  night  without  a  murmur.  Of 
course  they  simply  revelled  in  the  mystery  and  secrecy 
of  it,  but  we  wondered  how  soon  rumour  would  reach 
the  bazaar 1 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  ESCAPE  FROM  JEDABIA 

DECEMBER  7  dawned  brilliantly  fine.  We  rose 
from  our  camp  beds  feeling  joyfully  that  thirty- 
six  hours  would  elapse  before  we  slept  on  them 
again.  Our  morning  was  enlivened  by  the  visits  of  two 
or  three  friends  from  the  neighbouring  encampments. 
Sheikh  Mohammed,  the  Haji,  came  in  to  tell  us  that 
we  were  welcome  visitors  to  any  Beduin  camp.  He 
drank  three  glasses  of  sweet  tea  in  three  gulps,  asked  in 
a  mysterious  whisper  for  a  cigarette,  hastily  put  the 
whole  packet  into  his  sleeve  and  demanded  that  I  should 
repeat  suras  from  the  Koran  to  him.  I  did  so  to  the 
best  of  my  ability  and  he  was  much  impressed.  We 
meant  to  sleep  in  the  afternoon,  but  the  unsuspecting 
Sayed  had  most  kindly  ordered  his  slaves  to  perform  a 
dance  in  our  honour,  so  about  3  P.M.  the  sound  of  drums 
was  heard  outside  our  blind  walls.  Ali  summoned  us 
forth  in  great  excitement.  We  sat  on  two  chairs  before 
our  door  and  gradually  the  whole  male  population  of 
Jedabia  gathered  round  us,  row  upon  row  of  shrouded 
white  figures  crouching  on  the  sand.  In  an  irregular 
circle  round  a  couple  of  hide  drums  danced  the  black 
Sudanese  slaves  from  Wadai,  bought  in  the  market  at 
Kufara,  presents  from  native  potentates  to  the  Senussi 
family,  or  children  of  slaves  sent  by  the  famous  Ali 
Dinar,  Sultan  of  Darfur.  Slavery  in  the  East  is  a  kindly 
institution,  quite  unlike  the  horrors  of  "Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin."  The  blacks  are  treated  as  part  of  the  family. 

39 


40     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

They  are  proud  of  their  masters  and  devoted  to  them. 
They  are  trusted  and  confidential.  Thus  AH  came  to  us 
one  evening  in  honest  grief.  "That  Mustapha  is  a  bad 
man,"  he  said.  "He  goes  to  the  house  of  the  doctor 
and  says  he  has  not  had  enough  to  eat  here.  It  is  not 
true.  The  Sayed  is  generous.  There  is  everything  here. 
It  is  not  good  for  the  Sayed's  honour  that  such  things 
should  be  said." 

The  blacks  enjoyed  the  dance  even  more  than  we  did, 
for  we  had  just  heard  that  through  too  much  ardour  on 
the  part  of  our  allies  there  was  likely  to  be  a  hitch  in 
the  arrangements.  The  long-delayed  camels  for  the 
caravan  had  arrived  at  last.  The  soldiers  had  come  in 
from  Zuetina.  We  had  better  all  start  together  at  mid- 
night, said  our  confidant  triumphantly.  Anyone  who 
knows  the  East  will  realise  how  difficult  it  is  for  even 
two  or  three  people  to  slip  away  secretly.  Everyone's 
business  is  known  from  A  to  Z.  Projects  are  discussed 
in  the  bazaars  while  they  are  still  formless  in  the  brain 
of  the  plotter.  The  idea  that  a  score  of  camels  and  a 
dozen  soldiers,  with  luggage,  tents,  stores,  guides,  etc., 
could  start  secretly  from  Jedabia  was  ludicrous.  Already 
there  was  a  rumour  in  the  suq  that  we  were  going  to 
Kufara  because  of  the  unfortunate  suggestion  that  we 
should  accompany  the  caravan  for  a  day  or  two!  There- 
fore, even  while  we  gazed  at  the  gyrating  circle  of  blacks, 
who  flung  themselves  into  extravagant  postures,  chanting 
their  monotonous  songs  and  clicking  together  short  sticks, 
we  had  sent  post  haste  to  rearrange  matters.  News  was 
brought  us  that  the  delightful  cavalry  officer  from  Zue- 
tina had  arrived,  two  days  before  he  was  expected. 

"I  think  I  will  go  and  have  tea  at  the  doctor's,"  I 
said  firmly  to  Hassanein.  "I  will  stay  with  them  there 
for  two  hours,  which  will  give  you  plenty  of  time  to  get 
the  caravan  postponed." 


THE  ESCAPE  FROM  JEDABIA  41 

The  spies  were  as  clinging  as  limpets  that  day. 
Mabruk  leant  over  my  shoulder  as  I  spoke,  pointing  to 
the  wildest  dancer  with  a  forced  smile.  However,  I  was 
determined  to  spoil  his  little  effort  and  insisted  that  he 
and  Mustapha  should  accompany  me  on  my  walk.  "I 
don't  like  going  through  all  these  people  alone,"  I  said; 
and  reluctantly  they  had  to  come  with  me. 

Our  last  game  of  cross  purposes  will  always  remain 
in  my  mind,  for,  with  one  eye  on  the  clock,  I  summoned 
every  atom  of  intelligence  to  my  aid.  I  allowed  myself 
to  be  reluctantly  persuaded  to  return  by  camion  to 
Benghazi  the  following  week.  I  asked  reproachfully  why 
no  ekhwan  could  be  found  to  accompany  me  on  a  little 
caravan  tour.  They  assured  me  that  none  was  willing 
to  travel  with  a  Christian,  and  that  no  one  of  that  faith 
could  journey  beyond  Jedabia.  I  took  up  and  emphasised 
this  point  for  some  time,  as  it  would  eventually  preclude 
their  attempting  to  follow  us.  I  allowed  my  bitter 
disappointment  to  be  seen,  was  comforted  and  finally 
cheered  up  with  a  promise  of  visiting  all  the  encampments 
on  the  way  back.  We  parted  the  best  of  friends  and  I 
shall  always  retain  a  grateful  memory  of  their  kindness 
and  care.  So  often  we  longed  to  confide  all  our  plans 
to  them.  We  were  sure  of  their  sympathy,  but  their 
very  hospitality  would  have  made  it  impossible  for  them 
to  allow  their  erstwhile  guest  to  venture  her  life  on  such 
a  wild  and  dangerous  journey. 

Six  months  before  I  had  talked  to  an  Arabian  Emir 
about  my  project.  "Heya  magnuna!"  he  exclaimed 
to  his  wakils.  "She  is  mad.  If  she  could  get  to  Kufara, 
she  could  get  to  any  place  in  heaven  or  earth!"  Thus 
we  knew  from  the  beginning  that  we  must  hide  our 
object  from  our  generous  Italian  friends.  If  they  hadn't 
thought  that  at  least  Hassanein  had  some  political  aim 
in  coming  to  Jedabia,  remorse  would  probably  have 


42     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

added  to  our  mental  troubles,  but,  luckily,  the  fact 
that  they  were  obviously  watching  us  turned  the  affair 
into  a  game  and  justified  us  in  having  a  few  secrets 
also. 

If  my  charming  hosts  in  Cyrenaica  read  this  book,  I 
think  they  will  forgive  me  for  the  part  their  own  kindness 
and  forethought  forced  me  to  play  most  unwillingly. 
They  are  all  sportsmen.  They,  too,  are  travellers  and 
lovers  of  the  great  desert.  They  laid  the  foundations  of 
my  journey  by  their  long  years  of  work  in  North  Africa. 
They  will  reap  the  benefit  when  the  friendship  between 
European  and  Senussi  is  firmly  cemented  and  the  Beduins 
welcome  the  influx  of  commerce  and  exploration  from 
over  the  sea. 

I  returned  at  7  P.M.  to  our  walled  Arab  house,  but 
the  fantasia  was  still  continuing.  The  gift  of  our  last 
packet  of  cigarettes  had  stimulated  the  performers  to 
frenzy  and  they  were  prepared  to  spend  the  night  in  an 
orgy  of  dance  and  song.  Ordinarily,  I  should  have  loved 
watching  their  barbaric  vigour  and  I  was  exceedingly 
grateful  to  the  ever-thoughtful  Sayed  for  giving  this  festa 
in  our  honour,  but  we  had  still  a  good  many  preparations 
to  make,  so  we  regretfully  thanked  the  performers  and 
despatched  them  to  their  homes.  After  a  hasty  meal, 
Hassanein  went  off  to  make  final  preparations  concerning 
changing  our  Italian  notes  into  heavy  silver  mejidies,  the 
cumbersome  coin  of  the  country,  buying  bread  and  eggs, 
collecting  the  native  dress  and  a  dozen  other  things  that 
had  to  be  done  at  the  very  last  moment  for  fear  of 
arousing  suspicion.  I  wrote  a  note  to  our  Italian  inter- 
preter, who  had  also  proved  guide,  philosopher  and 
friend,  explaining  that  I  was  not  to  be  entirely  deprived 
of  my  desert  journey  after  all,  for  at  the  last  moment  I 
was  able  to  accompany  an  ekhwan  who  was  travelling 
to  an  encampment  a  day  or  two  away.  I  then  made 


43 

relays  of  green  tea  in  an  inadequate  kettle  and  filled 
both  our  thermos  flasks,  also  the  water  bottles. 

It  was  then  nearly  9  P.M.,  at  which  hour  Hassanein 
had  said  he  would  return,  but  the  minutes  dragged  on 
and  there  was  no  sign  of  his  coming.  At  10  I  became 
anxious.  I  couldn't  lie  still  any  more,  and  began  walk- 
ing up  and  down  the  big  room  by  the  light  of  one  candle 
guttering  on  the  window  ledge.  Ali  came  to  me  to  ask 
if  he  and  the  servant,  who  was  also  a  spy,  could  go  home. 
I  said  he  must  stay  until  Hassanein  Bey  returned,  for  I 
did  not  want  to  give  the  boy  an  opportunity  of  inquiring 
into  my  companion's  designs,  but  each  hour  that  went 
by  made  our  flight  more  and  more  difficult,  for  we  could 
not  begin  to  pack  beds,  luggage,  etc.,  till  the  house  was 
empty.  At  11  I  was  nearly  frantic.  I  don't  think  I  have 
ever  spent  a  worse  two  hours.  I  began  to  wonder  whether 
the  spies  had  discovered  our  plot  and,  deciding  to 
frustrate  it  at  all  costs,  had  arranged  to  have  my  ally 
knocked  senseless  as  he  crossed  the  wide  expanse  of  white 
sandstone  between  our  house  and  the  scattered  buildings 
of  Jedabia. 

At  11.30,  as  I  was  preparing  to  set  forth  in  search 
and  was  actually  winding  myself  into  the  intricacies  of 
a  jerd  so  as  to  pass  unnoticed  in  the  dark,  Hassanein 
arrived,  staggering  beneath  the  mejidies,  for  a  very 
moderate  sum  in  that  coinage  weighs  intolerably.  He 
discharged  eggs,  bread  and  clothing  in  a  heap  and 
explained  that  the  usual  Arab  dilatoriness  had  delayed 
him.  The  letters  to  sheikhs  of  zawias  were  not  ready, 
the  eggs  were  not  cooked,  the  clothes  were  not  quite 
finished.  However,  we  didn't  wait  for  much  talk.  We 
sent  off  the  servants  with  minute  instructions  about 
to-morrow's  work.  An  Arab  spy  is  clever  in  some  ways, 
but  he  never  looks  ahead,  so  it  is  generally  fairly  easy 
to  lull  his  suspicions. 


44     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

The  instant  the  door  shut  behind  them  we  literally 
flung  ourselves  on  the  luggage.  We  wrestled  first  with 
the  beds  and  flea-bags,  stuffing  them  into  old  sacks  to 
look  like  native  bundles.  The  tent  had  to  be  disposed  of 
in  the  same  way, — its  poles  tied  up  in  a  red  prayer-rug, 
its  canvas  disguised  in  native  wrappings.  Not  one  single 
bit  of  European  luggage  must  be  visible.  My  suit-case 
was  already  packed  and  it  was  but  a  minute's  work  to 
push  it  into  a  striped  flour  sack,  but  my  heart  sank  when 
I  saw  Hassanein's  room.  It  was  still  littered  with  what 
he  called  necessities.  We  packed  and  pushed  and  tugged 
at  his  bundles,  getting  frantically  hot  and  tired,  but 
always  when  we  had,  with  superhuman  effort,  triumph- 
antly strapped  up  a  bulging  roll,  a  minute  later  he  would 
remember  something  he  absolutely  must  put  in  and 
want  the  thing  undone.  When  but  half  an  hour  was  left 
before  our  departure  was  due,  I  became  desperate  and 
took  matters  into  my  own  hands.  I  packed  the  food 
into  one  knapsack.  The  necessities  I  divided  into  two 
others.  I  shut  his  suit-case  firmly  on  the  most  useful 
articles  I  could  collect  from  the  chaos.  I  stood  over 
him  equally  firmly  while  he  put  mackintoshes  with  fleece 
linings,  rugs  and  extra  native  dress  into  the  bedding.  I 
pulled  the  straps  to  a  tighter  hole  myself  before  scurrying 
off  to  dress. 

Let  no  one  think  it  is  easy  to  get  into  Beduin 
feminine  attire  for  the  first  time.  The  tight  white 
trousers  presented  difficulties  over  riding  breeches.  The 
red  tobh  was  too  tight  at  the  neck.  The  barracan  needed 
much  adjustment.  One  end  flaps  loose  over  the  head, 
which  is  already  swathed  in  a  tight  black  handkerchief 
hiding  all  the  hair,  while  the  other  is  wound  twice  round 
in  the  form  of  a  skirt  and  comes  up  over  the  left  shoulder 
to  make  the  front  bit  of  the  bodice.  It  is  all  held  in 
place  by  a  thick  red  woollen  "hezaam"  at  least  twelve 


THE  ESCAPE  FROM  JEDABIA  45 

feet  in  length,  which  is  wound  round  and  round  till  one's 
waist  resembles  a  mummy  and  is  tied  one  side  with 
dangling  ends.  Under  this  I  wore  my  revolver  belt, 
with  two  fully  loaded  Colts  and  a  prismatic  compass  in 
a  case. 

Glancing  round  my  room  as  I  put  on  my  huge  yellow 
heel-less  slippers,  I  decided  it  looked  a  very  realistic 
picture  of  the  abode  left  temporarily  and  in  haste.  My 
cherished  blue  tweed  hung  on  one  hook  and  a  rose-red 
sweater  on  another.  A  few  books  and  papers,  with  a 
hot-water  bottle  and  some  stockings,  were  scattered  on 
convenient  chairs.  The  cases  and  sacks  of  stones  stood 
formally  round  the  walls.  A  bottle  of  complexion  lotion 
was  prominent  on  a  shelf  and  my  European  shoes  were 
in  their  usual  row!  With  a  sigh  of  relief  I  dragged  the 
sack  containing  my  suit-case  to  join  the  disguised  camp 
outfit  by  the  main  door  and,  blowing  out  the  candle  in 
my  room,  closed  the  door  for  the  last  time. 

My  cheerfulness  rapily  evaporated  when  I  crossed 
the  court  to  Hassanein's  room.  The  litter  was  inconceiv- 
able. Everything  that  we  had  shut  twenty  minutes  ago 
was  open.  He  himself,  with  ruffled  wild  hair,  was  still 
in  shirt  and  riding-breeches.  To  a  casual  observer  he 
appeared  to  be  playing  a  game  of  leap  frog  with  the 
various  bundles,  in  which  the  object  seemed  to  be  to 
upset  as  many  things  as  possible.  "You  have  exactly 
six  minutes  in  which  to  get  ready,"  I  said  in  an  awful 
voice.  A  chair  fell  wrih  a  crash,  breaking  an  eau  de 
Cologne  bottle  and  sending  a  mass  of  little  tubes,  bottles 
and  boxes  rolling  to  my  feet.  Thereafter  followed  ten 
minutes'  best  American  hustle.  In  spite  of  feeling  like 
a  swathed  Chinese  infant  in  my  cumbersome  dress,  I 
attacked  that  room  with  a  personal  venom  that  surely 
had  effect  even  on  inanimate  things,  for  the  suit-case  shut 
almost  unprotestingly  on  a  huddled  mass  in  which  the 


46     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

parcels  of  mejidies  stuck  out  like  Mount  Everest.  I 
don't  know  what  I  said.  I  imagined  at  the  time  it  was 
quite  unforgivable,  but  Hassanein  is  the  most  good- 
tempered  person  in  the  world.  He  submitted  to  being 
pushed  and  pulled  into  the  white  garments  he  had  to 
wear  over  his  European  riding-kit — voluminous  white 
pantaloons,  long  flowing  shirt  and  woollen  jerd.  I 
believe  I  banged  a  white  kufiya  on  his  head  and  flung 
an  agal  at  him  before  rushing  from  the  room  to  take 
up  my  position  behind  the  main  door  with  a  tiny  dark 
lantern  which  revealed  the  piles  of  corpulent  sacks. 
When,  a  few  minutes  later,  a  stately  white  figure  with 
flowing  lines  unbroken  save  by  the  crossed  revolver  belts, 
true  son  of  a  sheikh  of  the  famous  Azhar  University, 
joined  me,  I  could  hardly  recognise  in  this  solemn  Arab 
the  wild  individual  who  was  playing  at  hay-making  a 
few  minutes  before. 

Of  course  our  fellow-plotters  were  late!  We  waited 
nearly  an  hour  crouched  on  the  sacks,  while  the  only 
thing  that  broke  the  silence  of  a  desert  night  was  the 
braying  of  a  donkey  near  the  suq.  At  about  1.45  we 
heard  the  faint  roar  of  protesting  camels  and  our  pulses 
quickened.  Some  ten  minutes  later  stealthy  footsteps 
approached.  There  was  a  light  scratch  on  the  door,  and 
the  operation  of  the  previous  night  was  successfully 
repeated,  only  this  time  we  had  another  quarter  of  an 
hour's  suspense  after  the  porters  went  forth  with  the 
first  sacks  before  they  could  return  for  the  last.  Our 
confidant  leant  against  the  door,  motionless  and  calm, 
looking  at  the  starlit  sky.  "Bahi!"  he  murmured,  as 
the  mysterious  figures  reappeared,  the  only  word  he  had 
uttered  the  whole  time.  Shouldering  knapsack,  water- 
bottle,  thermos  flask  and  kodak,  I  stumbled  out  of  the 
dark  passage  into  the  moonless  night.  A  strong,  cold 
wind  met  me  and  I  wondered,  shivering,  why  a  Beduin 


THE  ESCAPE  FROM  JEDABIA  47 

woman  does  not  freeze  to  death.  I've  never  seen  them 
wear  anything  but  a  cotton  barracan.  Even  while  I 
limped  across  the  open  white  sands,  for  the  camels  were 
hidden  some  three  hundred  yards  away,  near  the  rough 
cemetery  that  surrounds  the  deserted  morabit  of  Sidi 
Hassan,  I  felt  that  I  wanted  an  overcoat  even  more  than 
I  wanted  to  go  to  Kufara! 

Nevertheless,  it  was  freedom  at  last  and  excitement 
thrilled  us.  There  was  a  moment's  pause  on  the  part  of 
our  puzzled  guide  when  absolute  blackness  on  all  sides 
gave  no  hint  of  direction.  Then  a  muffled  roar  told  us 
that  a  camel  was  on  our  left  and  the  smothered  sound  of  it 
suggested  that  someone  was  probably  sitting  on  its  head. 
A  moment  more  and  a  dark  mass  loomed  up  beside  a 
broken  wall.  Thankfully  I  subsided  on  a  heap  of  stones. 
It  is  not  the  slightest  use  arguing  with  a  camel-driver 
about  a  load.  It  is  waste  of  energy  to  try  to  hurry  him. 
He  is  used  to  weighing  burdens  minutely,  to  arranging 
them  slowly  to  his  own  satisfaction.  So  I  was  prepared 
for  an  hour's  wait  while  our  retinue  cut  rope,  made 
"corners"  to  the  sacks  with  stones,  discussed  loads,  lost 
camels,  caught  them  again  and  were  generally  inefficient. 
I  was  genuinely  surprised,  therefore,  when  in  only  twenty 
minutes  everything  was  noiselessly  packed  and  the  camels 
ready  to  start.  Yusuf  el  Hamri  and  Mohammed  Quemish, 
our  two  confidential  servants,  were  introduced  to  me  in 
the  dark  and  we  exchanged  a  few  florid  sentences  in 
which  the  words  "mabsut"  and  "mamnun"  played  a 
large  part. 

Then  I  hoisted  myself  on  to  my  camel,  a  huge,  blond 
beast,  with  no  proper  saddle.  A  spike  stuck  up  in  front 
and  behind  and  his  hump  was  painfully  evident  between 
the  rolled  straw  of  the  baggage  serg.  On  the  top  were 
folded  a  couple  of  native  mats  and  thereon  I  perched  in 
my  uncomfortable,  closely  wound  clothes,  which  made 


48     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA  , 

mounting  a  matter  of  peril  and  difficulty.  In  spite  of  all 
this,  when  my  great  beast  rose  to  his  stately  height  and 
moved  off  into  the  night,  exhilaration  rushed  over  me. 
I  hadn't  been  on  a  camel  for  three  months,  and  then  on 
the  beautiful  trotting  "hajin"  of  the  Sudan.  This  was 
only  a  fine  baggage  "hamla,"  but  he  was  in  keeping 
with  the  desert  and  the  night  and  our  wild,  impossible 
project.  I  was  happy.  Also,  it  was  a  wonderful  start. 
Sir  Richard  Burton  wisely  writes  that  the  African 
traveller  must  always  be  prepared  for  three  starts — the 
long  one,  the  short  one  and  the  real  one.  Later  we 
realised  how  right  he  was,  but  for  the  moment,  as  our 
little  line  of  camels  swayed  off  into  the  darkness  beyond 
the  white  morabit,  we  only  felt  that  we  had  escaped. 

"How  amazing  that  they  can  find  .their  way  in 
pitch  darkness  like  this!'*  I  exclaimed,  and  only  when 
Orion  had  appeared  in  four  different  directions  did  I 
begin  to  wonder  whether  they  could!  We  had  started 
just  before  three,  striking  a  northerly  course  which  sur- 
prised us,  as  we  knew  that  Aujela  lay  to  the  south.  We 
comforted  ourselves  with  the  idea  that  our  guides  were 
purposely  avoiding  the  main  track,  and  patiently  we 
bore  the  icy  wind  and  constant  change  of  direction. 
When,  after  an  hour,  we  turned  completely  round,  we 
decided  it  was  necessary  to  expostulate.  Yusuf,  on  being 
shown  a  luminous  compass,  refused  to  believe  that  the 
north  was  where  the  needle  directed.  We  pointed  out 
the  extraordinary  movement  of  the  stars  and  he  remained 
unconvinced.  He  looked  pathetically  at  the  heavens  and 
asked  persistently  for  "Jedi,"  the  star  that  had  guided 
him  apparently  in  many  wanderings  over  half  Africa. 
Unfortunately  we  could  not  find  her  for  him,  though  we 
pointed  out  most  of  the  constellations  from  the  Great 
Bear  to  the  Milky  Way. 

We1  continued  our  aimless  progress  for  another  hour. 


THE    AUTHOR    AT    JEDABIA 


THE    AUTHOR    OX    CAMEL-BACK 


BEDUIK    WOMAN    AT   JEDABIA 


THE  ESCAPE  FROM  JEDABIA  49 

As  we  were  merely  describing  irregular  circles  we  were 
not  surprised  when  a  little  before  five  a  chorus  of  dogs 
barking  proclaimed  our  nearness  to  Jedabia.  "It  is 
an  encampment,"  said  Yusuf.  "I  know  where  we  are 
now!"  and  at  that  moment  the  donkey  in  the  suq 
brayed  quite  close  to  us!  I  couldn't  help  laughing.  In 
a  few  minutes  our  desperate  midnight  flight  would  land 
us  before  the  doors  of  the  house  from  which  we  had 
escaped  so  triumphantly  three  hours  earlier.  The  dis- 
tressed Yusuf,  inexplicably  bereft  of  his  tame  star,  was 
all  for  camping  there  and  then  to  await  the  dawn,  but,  lest 
the  rising  sun  should  reveal  to  the  astonished  eyes  of  the 
early  astir  a  dishevelled  party  asleep  on  the  space  before 
the  mosque,  I  firmly  took  command.  By  the  compass 
I  marched  them  due  south  of  the  donkey's  bray  for  half 
an  hour.  At  least  we  should  be  out  of  sight  at  dawn 
and  could  then  start  off  on  the  right  track. 

The  wind  seemed  colder  than  ever  as  we  "barraked" 
our  camels  on  the  flat,  sandy  waste.  We  were  frozen 
and  shelterless.  Excitement,  suspense  and  physical 
labour  had  all  combined  to  wear  us  out.  My  foot 
was  swollen  and  inflamed  after  its  unusual  exercise. 
Hassanein  had  rheumatism  in  his  back.  There  was  an 
hour  to  wait  for  the  dawn.  I  doubt  if  a  more  miserable 
couple  existed  than  the  two  who  rolled  themselves  into 
the  thin  and  dirty  camel  rugs  and  lay  down  on  the  hard 
sand,  their  heads  on  tufts  of  spiky  grass.  I  did  not 
sleep.  It  was  too  cold.  The  wind  searched  out  every 
corner  of  my  aching  body.  I  began  to  feel  the  strain 
of  our  sleepless  nights  and  days  of  suspense.  Even  my 
sense  of  humour  had  gone.  It  was  five  weeks  since  we 
had  left  England  and  we  had  got  no  farther  than  a 
sand  heap  outside  Jedabia!  At  six  a  flush  of  pale  pink 
appeared  in  the  sky  in  a  direction  which  amazed  Yusuf. 
Shivering,  with  chattering  teeth,  we  rose  to  a  windy 


50     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

dawn!  Mohammed  was  already  murmuring,  "Allahu 
Akhbar,"  devoutly  turning  towards  the  kibla  at  Mecca. 
We  followed  his  example,  abluting  in  the  sand  as  is 
permissible  when  there  is  no  water.  Luckily  it  is  only 
necessary  to  go  through  the  "Fatha"  and  the  requisite 
"Raqa-at."  The  kneeling  position  hurt  my  foot  excru- 
ciatingly, and  I  could  hardly  get  it  into  my  huge  yellow 
shoe  again. 

The  men  bestirred  themselves  to  some  purpose.  Five 
minutes  after  the  last  "Salamu  Aleikum  wa  Rahmat 
Allah"  had  saluted  the  angels  who  stand  on  either  side 
to  record  a  man's  good  and  bad  deeds,  the  camels  were 
loaded  and  we  were  moving  away  from  the  white  qubba 
of  Sidi  Hassan  and  the  scattered  mud  houses  which 
appeared  but  a  stone's  throw  distant.  There  had  been 
no  time  to  eat.  I  tried  to  force  a  hard-boiled  egg  down 
my  throat  as  I  swayed  along,  but  I  could  not  manage  it. 
Hassanein  was  doubled  up  with  rheumatism  and  I  tried 
every  possible  position  to  ease  my  foot.  My  hands  were 
numb  as  I  clutched  the  gaudy  barracan,  red,  blue  and 
orange,  round  me,  and  prayed  for  the  sun  to  warm  me. 

Every  few  minutes  we  turned  round  to  see  if  Jedabia 
had  disappeared,  but  it  must  stand  on  a  slight  rise  as 
the  morabit  was  visible  for  three  hours.  Distance  is 
illusive  in  the  desert.  Everything  looks  much  nearer 
than  it  really  is.  One  sees  the  palms  of  an  oasis  early 
in  the  morning,  plans  to  arrive  before  midday,  and  is 
lucky  if  one  reaches  it  by  sunset.  However,  by  10.30 
every  sign  of  human  habitation  had  disappeared  and  only 
a  flat  sandy  plain,  tufted  with  coarse  grey  brush  a  few 
inches  to  a  foot  high,  lay  all  around  us.  Thankfully  we 
halted,  turned  the  camels  to  graze,  spread  the  scarlet 
woven  rugs  in  the  sun,  and  prepared  to  eat. 

Further  troubles  threatened  when  we  discovered 
that  our  retinue,  Yusuf,  Mohammed  and  two  coal-black 


THE  ESCAPE  FROM  JEDABIA  51 

Sudanese  soldiers,  had  brought  no  provisions  of  any  sort. 
They  had  trusted  either  to  us  or  to  joining  the  south- 
bound caravan  within  a  few  hours.  Consternation  seized 
us.  In  order  to  travel  light  we  had  brought  what  we 
considered  the  least  possible  amount  of  food  necessary 
for  two  people  for  a  week — that  is,  one  tin  of  meat  per 
day,  with  a  very  small  ration  of  flour,  rice,  dates  and 
tea.  How  were  we  going  to  feed  six  people  for  perhaps 
a  fortnight  on  it?  At  the  moment  we  were  too  tired 
to  think.  We  doled  out  to  the  retinue  rice,  tea  and 
most  of  the  hard-boiled  eggs  intended  for  ourselves  and, 
after  the  frugal  meal,  insisted  on  immediate  departure. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  grumbling.  They  were  all 
tired  and  they  wanted  to  sleep  there  and  then.  The 
blacks  were  openly  rebellious.  "We  are  not  your  slaves," 
they  said.  "We  will  not  over-tire  ourselves."  How- 
ever, by  force  of  sarcasm,  encouragement  and  laughter, 
we  got  them  to  load  the  camels. 

In  Libya  they  do  not  girth  the  baggage  saddles  at  all. 
They  merely  balance  the  bales  evenly  according  to  weight 
on  either  side  of  a  straw  pad  round  the  hump.  Thus, 
if  the  camel  stumbles  badly  or  is  frightened  and  runs  a 
few  paces,  the  luggage  over-balances  and  crashes  to  the 
ground,  generally  terrifying  the  beast  into  a  mad  gallop. 
I  suppose  ours  were  carelessly  loaded,  for  the  tent 
dropped  off  three  times  and  tempers  grew  sulky. 

About  one  we  came  to  a  small  cluster  of  camel's- 
hair  tents  in  the  shelter  of  a  slight  rise  and  the 
retinue  clamoured  to  stop  there  for  the  night.  The 
Arab  is  greedy  by  nature,  while  the  Sudanese  is  positively 
voracious.  At  one  meal  he  will  devour  what  would 
support  a  European  family  for  a  day.  Having  seen  our 
meagre  provisions,  the  retinue  thought  they  would  get 
a  better  dinner  in  these  Beduin  tents.  They  protested  and 
argued  violently,  but  we  were  ruthless.  There  was  fear 


52     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

of  pursuit  and  of  being  recognised.  Yusuf  joined  his 
hands  in  prayer.  "We  will  say  you  are  the  wife  of  an 
ekhwan,"  he  said,  "and  that  we  are  taking  you  to 
Jalo,"  but  he  pleaded  in  vain.  We  moved  on  and  they 
followed  perforce,  surly,  bronzed  Beduins  in  coarse 
woolen  jerds,  rifles  slung  across  their  backs. 

The  impressions  cherished  since  childhood  are  grad- 
ually disappearing  from  my  mind.  One  hears  so  often 
of  the  untiring  endurance  of  the  Beduin  and  of  his 
frugal  fare.  I  used  to  believe  that  he  could  ride  for  days 
without  sleep  and  live  on  a  few  dates  or  locusts.  He 
may  be  able  to  do  the  latter  if  he  is  absolutely  obliged 
to,  but  normally  his  appetite  is  large  and  his  amiability 
depends  on  his  food.  With  regard  to  his  endurance,  I 
have  met  Tuaregs  who  had  accomplished  some  amazingly 
swift  rides,  but  in  the  French  Sahara,  in  Syria  or  in 
Libya,  as  in  the  Sudan,  I  have  never  found  an  Arab 
who  did  not  want  to  camp  several  hours  before  I  did. 
South  of  Touggurt  I  once  had  a  delightful  guide  called 
Ali,  a  blue-eyed,  ruddy-haired  Tuareg,  who  must  have 
had  Vandal  blood  in  his  veins  and  he  used  to  get  posi- 
tively haggard  after  a  nine  hours'  ride  without  a  pause. 

After  2.30  we  could  not  urge  our  retinue  farther. 
It  was  obvious  that  they  were  very  tired,  but  it  is 
doubtful  if  they  were  as  exhausted  as  we  were,  for  we 
had  worked  very  hard  the  preceding  day  and  night, 
while  they  were  "fadhling"  in  the  suq.  However,  Yusuf 
seized  my  camel  rein.  "This  is  a  good  place.  We 
must  rest,"  he  said.  It  was  no  use  exasperating  them. 
We  had  ridden  for  six  hours.  A  camel  does  a  regular 
two  and  a  half  miles  an  hour,  so  we  imagined  ourselves 
about  15  miles  from  Jedabia  and  safe  from  pursuit. 

Almost  before  we  had  got  the  sacks  off  the  camels 
Mohammed  had  rolled  himself  in  his  jerd  and  was 
actually  asleep.  Yusuf  helped  us  half-heartedly  while  we 


THE  ESCAPE  FROM  JEDABIA  53 

struggled  to  put  up  the  tent,  but  we  unrolled  bedding, 
put  down  ground-sheet,  doled  out  provisions,  fitted  the 
camp  beds  together  ourselves.  The  Sudanese  collected 
brushwood,  yawning  violently  and  infinitely  wearily. 
We  boiled  tea  and  drank  it  sugarless,  for  the  retinue  had 
the  usual  Arab  passion  for  sugar.  I  looked  at  myself 
once  in  a  tiny  hand-glass,  and  was  thankful  to  put  it 
down,  for  I  hardly  recognised  the  begrimed  and  haggard 
visage,  yellow,  sunburnt  and  lined,  that  peered  out  under 
the  heavy  black  handkerchief  between  the  folds  of  the 
barracan.  A  gale  rose  suddenly  and  nearly  swept  our 
tent  away,  but  we  did  not  mind.  We  slept  fitfully, 
woke  to  cook  rice  on  a  brushwood  fire  and  went  to  bed 
about  6  P.M.  with  a  thankfulness  too  deep  for  words. 
Feather  mattresses,  frilled  pillows,  Chippendale  or 
Louis  XV  beds  all  have  their  charms,  but  I  have  never 
been  so  grateful  for  any  as  I  was  that  night  for  my 
flea-bag  and  my  air  cushion. 

At  6  next  morning  Yusuf  woke  us  with  a  cry  of  "El 
Fagr,"  and  after  the  usual  prayers  we  set  to  work  to 
break  camp.  We  informed  the  retinue  that  we  intended 
to  reach  Wadi  Farig  and  its  well  that  day  and  therefore 
they  must  not  count  on  a  midday  halt.  Consequently 
they  insisted  on  making  a  fire  and  cooking  half  our 
week's  rations  straight  away!  We  started  at  8  A.M.  and 
continued  a  south-easterly-southerly  course  all  day. 

Wadi  Farig  is  only  60  kilometres  from  Jedabia, 
but  I  imagine  our  first  day  we  must  have  made  a  detour 
in  order  to  avoid  the  main  route,  for  it  was  not  till 
2  o'clock  on  the  second  day  that  a  mirage  on  the  horizon, 
a  sheet  of  silver  water  bordered  with  purple  mountains, 
proclaimed  the  position  of  the  wadi.  "It  is  bayid, 
bayid!"  said  Mohammed.  "We  cannot  reach  it  before 
sunset.  Let  us  rest  now!"  This  time,  however,  we 
would  not  stop.  We  had  shared  our  flasks  of  tea  and  our 


54     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

dates  evenly  with  him  at  noon  and  we  felt  that  after 
a  good  night's  sleep,  if  we  could  ride  nine  hours  on  end, 
they  could  too.  It  was  an  absolutely  perfect  day,  cloud- 
less and  still,  but  the  sun  was  very  hot  at  noon.  It 
scorched  through  the  thin  folds  of  my  barracan  and 
made  one  wonder  why  Europe  and  not  Africa  invented 
parasols. 

The  character  of  the  country  remained  unchanged. 
Always  the  same  sandy  scrub  stretched  away  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  see.  Occasional  jerboas  or  lizards  scuttered 
into  their  holes  as  we  approached.  Once  a  dozen  gazelle 
fled  swiftly  across  our  path.  Mohammed  tried  a  shot  at 
them,  but  he  was  too  slow.  Another  time  we  passed  a 
large  rabbit  warren  and  a  couple  of  white  scuts  dis- 
appeared into  the  labyrinth  of  holes.  We  struck  a  main 
track  about  noon  and  I  noticed  a  sage  bush  covered  with 
bits  of  different  coloured  threads.  It  appears  that  every 
wayfarer  adds  a  piece  of  cotton  or  wool  from  his  attire 
to  show  that  this  is  a  desert  "road"  and  that  caravans 
pass  that  way.  Yusuf  contributed  a  white  thread  from 
his  girdle,  and  I  a  red  one  from  my  long  hezaam. 

All  that  day  we  met  only  two  travellers.  I  discreetly 
covered  my  face  while  they  exchanged  greetings  with 
our  retinue.  The  desert  telephone  was  at  work  again. 
They  brought  news  from  Jalo  which  they  exchanged 
for  tales  of  Jedabia.  They  were  not  interested  in  us. 
Mrs.  Forbes  had  disappeared  into  space,  and  in  her  place 
was  a  Mohammedan  woman  called  Khadija,  travelling 
with  a  kinsman,  an  Egyptian  Bey,  son  of  a  Sheikh 
el-Azhar.  She  wore  Beduin  clothes,  followed  their 
customs,  prayed  to  their  God,  lived  their  life.  Her 
language  was  certainly  different,  but  the  Arabic  varies 
so  immensely  between  Baghdad  and  Marrakesh  that  my 
faltering  conversation  was  attributed  to  my  being  accus- 
tomed only  to  the  classical  language.  Even  Hassanein 


55 

could  hardly  understand  the  dialect  used  by  the  Libyan 
Beduins.  It  is  not  a  case  of  accent  or  pronunciation. 
Nearly  all  the  words  are  different. 

I  cannot  imagine  why  Wadi  Farig  is  marked  on  the 
map  as  a  vivid  green  splash  across  the  colourless  desert. 
The  slight  depression  running  due  east  and  west  between 
the  two  faint  ridges  about  15  metres  high  varies  in  no 
respect  from  the  surrounding  country.  No  blade  of 
grass  or  green  thing  decorates  it.  Nothing  breaks  the 
monotonous  sand  and  grey  brushwood  except  the  one 
well  of  bitter  brackish  water.  We  arrived  just  as  the 
sun  was  setting  and  had  difficulty  in  getting  the  camels 
past  the  well  in  order  to  camp  on  the  higher  ground 
beyond.  Hassanein  was  riding  a  nervous  "naga" 
(female),  who  never  kept  her  head  in  one  direction  for 
more  than  a  minute  or  two.  She  now  decided  to  race 
for  the  well  while  a  playful  companion  kicked  off  a  bale 
or  two,  upset  the  balance  of  the  rest,  caught  her  foot 
in  a  falling  sack  and  tore  wildly  away,  scattering  her 
load  to  the  winds.  My  stately  beast  was  in  an  amorous 
mood,  so,  with  guttural  gurglings,  he  added  himself  to 
the  general  melee.  I  had  to  dismount  and  limp  up  to 
the  rise,  dragging  him  forcibly  after  me,  while  the  men 
collected  our  belongings  and  reloaded  them.  It  was  a 
race  with  the  sun,  but  we  just  won  it.  As  the  last 
crimson  glow  faded  in  the  radiant  west  and  the  devout 
Mohammed  lifted  a  sandy  nose  from  his  ablutions,  the 
last  tent  peg  was  driven  in.  Brush  fires  gleamed  on  the 
rise  opposite,  for  wherever  there  is  a  desert  well  there 
are  a  few  scattered  tents  of  the  nomads  whose  homes 
move  with  the  season  and  the  pasture. 

We  made  a  flaming  pyre  and  sat  round  it  in  a  circle 
of  pack-saddles.  Yusuf  had  found  his  beloved  Jedi  and 
he  pointed  her  out  to  me  triumphantly — the  Pole  star! 
The  silence  of  the  desert  encircled  us  and  a  faint  scent 


56     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

of  thyme  stole  up  from  the  cold  sand.  Farraj  (both  the 
black  Sudanese  were  called  Farraj )  began  intoning  verses 
of  the  Koran — a  melodious  sound  in  the  starlit  night. 
Then,  surprised  by  his  own  song,  he  suddenly  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  chanted  loudly,  triumphantly,  the  muazzin's 
call  to  prayer,  "Allahu  Akhbar.  Allahu  Akhbar.  Ash 
hadu  ilia  Illaha  illaDah  wa  ash  hadu  inna  Mohammedan 
rasul  Allah!"  The  Shehada  rolled  splendid,  intolerant, 
from  his  lips  and  his  voice  rose  higher  on  the  cry, 
"Haya  alia  sala!  Haya  alia  fellah!"  till  we  all  took 
up  the  chorus  of  "Allahu  Akhbar,  Allahu  Akhbar!" 

As  I  undressed  in  the  "harem"  portion  of  the  tent, 
which  had  enormously  impressed  our  retinue,  I  pondered 
on  the  character  of  these  men  with  whom  we  were  to 
live  in  familiar  intercourse  for  months.  Apart  frorc 
their  fierce  fanaticism,  which  made  it  a  duty  for  them 
to  kill  the  infidel  and  the  Nasrani  as  we  kill  dangerous 
and  pestilential  vermin,  they  had  the  simplicity  of 
children.  I  felt  that  our  blacks  would  steal  all  our  food 
one  day  if  they  happened  to  be  hungry  and  defend  us 
most  gallantly  the  next.  They  are  utterly  unable  to 
provide  for  the  morrow.  Their  trust  in  Allah  is  of  the 
blind  kind  that  does  not  try  to  help  itself,  yet  the  Koran 
says,  "Allah  works  with  him  who  works."  Again  and 
again  we  told  them  about  the  scarcity  of  food.  We 
showed  them  the  pathetic  limit  of  our  provisions.  They 
said,  "The  caravan  will  come  to-morrow!  Inshallah!" 

Knowing  the  dilatory  habits  of  the  East,  I  had  very 
little  faith  in  the  arrival  of  that  caravan  for  at  least  a 
week,  but  we  agreed  to  their  persistent  request  to  camp 
for  two  days  at  the  wadi  to  give  it  a  chance  of  joining 
us.  If  it  did  not  arrive  on  the  evening  of  the  llth, 
bringing  with  it  all  our  provisions,  we  should  have  to 
send  back  the  two  blacks,  and  continue  post-haste  to 
Aujela  with  Yusuf  and  Mohammed.  With  that  intent 


THE  ESCAPE  FROM  JEDABIA  57 

we  put  into  one  sack  the  smallest  quantity  of  food  for 

four  people  for  five  days — that  is,  a  tin  of  meat  or  sardines 

per  person  per  day,  with  coffee  and  dates.     When  this 

was  done  we  were  horrified  at  the  little  that  remained. 

The  blacks  wanted  to  bake  great  flat  loaves  of  unleavened 

bread  morning  and  evening  and  we  had  so  very  little 

flour.     I  began  to  realise  that  if  the  caravan  did  not 

arrive  we  should  die  of  exhaustion  on  the  way  to  Aujela. 

Let  us  once  lose  the  way,  let  a  storm  delay  us,  let  the 

retinue  prove  unreliable  and  insist  on  eating  more  than 

the  day's  meagre  ration  and  we  should  be  lost!     Yet 

we  were  determined  on  one  thing  only — not  to  go  back. 

"In  any  case  we  have  the  peace  and  quiet  of  the 

desert,"  I  thought,  as  I  went  to  sleep  and  woke  a  few 

hours  later  to  pandemonium  indescribable.     I've  heard 

the  roar  of  an  uncaged  lion  in  Rhodesia,  but  never  before 

had  I  heard  such  mad  bellows  of  rage  as  made  the  night 

hideous.     "The  camels  have  gone  mad,"   I  gasped,  as 

I  flung  myself  out  of  the  tent.    Thunder  of  sound  broke 

from  a  heaving  black  mass  only  a  few  yards  from  our 

canvas  walls.    Shouts  came  from  Yusuf  and  Mohammed, 

who  seemed  to  be  aimlessly  dancing  round  the  wildly 

excited  beasts.    Then  the  mass  crashed  roaring  to  its  feet 

and  two  camels  dashed  madly  past  me,  missing  the  tent 

by  a  foot.     I  found  Hassanein  only  half  awake  at  my 

elbow.     "What    are    they    doing?"    he     said    blankly. 

"In    the    spring    the    camels'    fancy    lightly    turns    to 

thoughts    of    love!"      "But    it    isn't    the    spring!"    he 

objected    drowsily.       "Never   mind.       God!       They're 

coming  back!"      We   retreated   hastily   from   the   tent. 

In  Syria  I  had  seen  a  maddened  beast  go  right  through 

a  tent  in  such  a  mood,  and  the  vision  of  the  crushed 

poles  and  canvas,  intricately  mixed  up  with  shattered 

baggage  and  an  absolutely  flattened  camp  bed,  flashed 

across  me.     I  took  up  a  strategic  position  in  the  open 


58     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

but  the  bellowing  brutes  staggered  away  again,  their 
roars  mercifully  fading  in  the  distance.  "Is  this  likely 
to  happen  often?"  I  asked  Yusuf.  "Yes,  when  it  is 
cold,"  he  answered  indifferently.  "Two  things  increase 
in  winter,  the  camels  and  the  sea!" 

We  enjoyed  the  rare  luxury  of  sleeping  late  next 
morning  and  woke  to  another  gorgeous  day.  The 
water  from  the  well  was  almost  undrinkable — it  was  so 
salt  and  muddy — but  we  washed  in  it  triumphantly. 
Unfortunately,  Hassanein  was  temped  to  wash  his  hair, 
with  the  odd  result  that  it  thereafter  stood  up  like  a 
tuft  of  coarse  ostrich  feathers.  Everything  dries  appall- 
ingly in  the  desert.  One's  skin  is  cracked  and  lined 
after  a  few  days.  One's  nails  break.  One's  hair  dries 
and  becomes  brittle.  Yet  one  does  not  mind.  The 
desert  has  a  subtle  and  a  cruel  charm.  She  destroys 
while  she  enthralls.  She  is  the  siren  from  whom  there 
is  no  escape.  Cynthia  Stockley,  whom  I  met  years  ago 
in  Bulawayo,  writes  in  one  of  her  vivid  stories  of 
African  life  that  once  the  desert  has  stuck  her  claw  into 
a  man,  he  must  return  to  her,  for  only  she  can  heal  the 
wound  she  has  made. 

The  preceding  night  the  wadi  had  been  empty. 
Tha^t  morning  it  was  crowded.  Half -naked  brown  figures 
hauled  water  for  a  great  herd  of  camels  who  crushed 
round  the  low  mud  walls  of  the  well.  A  flock  of  sheep 
waited  their  turn  at  a  short  distance.  More  camels 
strayed  slowly  down  the  rise,  grazing  as  they  walked. 
Some  white  figures  came  up  to  greet  us,  rifles  slung  across 
their  backs.  They  were  the  dwellers  in  the  nuggas  whose 
fires  we  had  seen  the  night  before.  The  desert  wires  had 
informed  them  of  our  imminent  arrival  before  we  had 
left  Jedabia!  They  sat  round  our  brushwood  fire  and 
drank  tea  sweetened  with  crushed  dates,  as  the  sugar 
had  run  out.  Hassanein  and  I  left  them  to  "fadhl"  with 


THE  ESCAPE  FROM  JEDABIA  59 

our  retinue  and  went  and  sat  on  a  sandhill  and  dreamed 
visions  of  the  caravan,  that  would  end  all  our  troubles, 
coming  over  the  rise  opposite.  Instead,  we  saw  only 
Farraj  go  down  the  wadi  to  buy  bitter  camel's  milk 
and  date  pulp,  highly  flavoured  with  sand,  from  the 
nugga  men.  When  the  sunset  dyed  the  land  to  crimson 
glory  we  returned  to  our  camp  frantically  hungry, 
for  we  had  eaten  nothing  since  8  A.M.,  and  then 
only  rice  and  tinned  vegetables,  because  the  latter  were 
disliked  by  our  retinue.  The  two  blacks  were  playing 
draughts  on  the  sands  with  white  shells  and  camel  dung. 
"Fadhl!"  urged  Mohammed,  smiling.  "Fadhl!" 

"Do  not  live  always  alone,"  said  Yusuf.  "Mix  with 
us  a  little.  We  shall  not  forget  who  is  master."  From 
this  I  knew  that  Hassanein  had  won  another  of  his 
personal  victories.  He  had  a  wonderful  way  of  gaining 
the  confidence  and  sympathy  of  Arabs,  from  the  Sayeds 
down  to  the  fanatical  Beduin. 

The  mental  atmosphere  of  our  retinue  had  been  most 
unpropitious  during  the  first  two  days.  We  realised  that 
our  journey  would  be  almost  an  impossibility  unless  it 
changed,  but,  wisely,  Hassanein  would  not  hurry  matters. 
A  word  dropped  here  and  there,  swift  rebuke  or  warm 
praise,  hinted  sympathy  with  the  Senussi  aims,  tales  of 
old  friendship  with  the  Sayeds,  little  councils  of  war  in 
the  outer  tent,  had  all  borne  fruit.  We  felt  the  effect 
that  night  as  we  toasted  ourselves  before  the  fire,  watch- 
ing Farraj  knead  his  heavy  bread  and  cook  it  in  the 
ashes.  When  it  was  baked,  he  pressed  some  upon  us 
with  a  broad,  toothless  smile.  It  was  hot,  heavy  and 
indigestible,  but  wholly  delicious  with  our  corned  beef. 
Only  the  cocoa  was  a  failure,  as  the  water  was  terribly 
salt. 

I  settled  myself  into  the  double  woollen  flaps  of  my 
flea-bag  that  night  with  a  great  sense  of  peace.  The 


60     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

thermometer  had  soared  up  at  midday,  but  the  nights  were 
always  chilly,  and  we  were  extremely  grateful  for  our 
rainproof  sleeping-sacks,  sprinkled  with  insect  powder, 
which,  by  the  way,  had  no  effect  whatever  on  the  fleas. 
The  third  morning  in  Jedabia  I  had  spent  a  happy  half- 
hour  chasing  agile  insects  round  my  bedding.  Hassanein 
entered  with  breakfast  at  my  most  heated  moment,  when 
I  thought  I  had  cornered  the  largest.  A  sweet  smile 
spread  over  his  face.  "There  are  dozens  and  dozens  in 
my  room,"  he  said;  "but  it  doesn't  matter.  At  last  I 
have  found  a  use  for  my  target  pistol.  Don't  ever  laugh 
at  me  again  for  useless  baggage!"  I  thought  of  this  as 
I  heard  a  bed  upset  on  the  other  side  of  the  partition, 
but  this  time  it  was  only  a  delicious  little  field  mouse 
scurrying  wildly  round  in  search  of  her  hole,  which  was 
probably  somewhere  under  our  ground-sheet. 

A  little  later  I  heard  the  Koran  intoned  verse  by 
verse  and  to  its  monotonous  murmur  I  fell  asleep 
wondering  at  the  desert  spell  which  had  changed  the 
Oxford  "Blue"  into  a  typical  Beduin,  devout  as  the 
fanatic  whose  prayers  rose  five  times  a  day  to  Allah, 
aloof  as  the  nomad  whose  wistful  eyes  are  ever  on  a 
desert  horizon,  impenetrable  as  the  jerd  which  muffled 
him  from  head  to  foot. 

December  7  provided  us  with  a  "gibli,"  a  strong 
south  wind  laden  with  sand,  which  nearly  tore  up  our 
tent  pegs  and  covered  everything  with  a  thick  yellow 
coating.  It  was  a  most  unpleasant  day.  Hair,  eyes  and 
skin  were  full  of  sand.  Everything  we  ate  was  flavoured 
with  it.  The  dust  sheet  was  three  inches  deep  in  it.  It 
oozed  from  the  pillows  and  from  every  article  of  clothing. 
It  penetrated  every  box  and  bag.  The  noise  of  flapping 
canvas  and  cracking  pegs  was  a  continual  strain,  and  in 
the  middle  of  it  arrived  a  messenger  from  Jedabia, 
bearing  a  letter  from  Benghazi  which  our  opponents 


THE  ESCAPE  FROM  JEDABIA  61 

had  sent  on  with  an  amused  message  written  on  the 
back: 

"Nous  vous  envoyons  noire  sincere  admiration  pour 
Inaptitude  que  vous  avez  pour  des  decisions  tfes  rapides, 
avec  nos  meilleurs  souhaits  d'un  bon  et  tres  long  voyage 
desertique!" 

I  think  the  French  emanated  from  the  cavalry  officer 
with  a  sense  of  humour.  From  the  beginning  he  may 
have  suspected  our  whole  project,  but,  a  noted  fencer, 
he  was  as  clever  with  words  as  with  the  foils.  However, 
we  knew  that  a  messenger  who  confessed  that  he  had 
been  told  to  follow  us  even  unto  Jalo  would  not  be 
sent  merely  to  bring  us  an  unimportant  letter.  He  was 
intended  to  find  out  our  destination  for  certain,  so  we 
thought  he  had  better  wait  with  us  until  the  caravan 
arrived  or  until  we  ourselves  left  for  Jalo.  Farraj 
amused  us  immensely,  for,  having  got  it  into  his  head 
that  the  man  was  a  spy,  he  wanted  to  shoot  him  at 
once.  It  took  a  good  deal  of  persuasion  on  our  part  to 
prevent  this  bloodthirsty  deed.  "The  Sayed  told  me  to 
protect  you.  If  I  do  not  kill  this  man,  the  Sayed  will 
surely  kill  me,"  he  said  morosely.  We  comforted  him 
by  telling  him  to  watch  that  the  man  did  not  escape, 
but  not  to  hurt  him,  yet  when  Hassanein  was  asleep 
that  afternoon,  and  I  heard  the  click  of  a  rifle  lock,  I 
rushed  frantically  to  see  that  the  man  was  safe.  He, 
too,  had  come  without  any  food.  The  improvidence  of 
the  race  had  begun  to  anger  me.  Should  manna  fall 
from  heaven,  I  believe  they  would  eat  their  fill  and  pick 
up  none  for  the  morrow! 

We  broke  the  news  to  the  retinue  that  we  should  have 
to  leave  the  blacks  at  the  nuggas  to  wait  for  the  caravan 
and  to  hurry  it  up  when  it  finally  arrived,  and  ourselves 
go  on  to  Aujela  by  forced  marches.  We  told  them  we 
would  start  early  and  ride  ten  or  eleven  hours  a  day,  pitch 


62     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

no  tent  to  save  labour,  share  our  food  evenly  with  them, 
but  that  they  must  expect  to  be  very  hungry  for  four 
or  five  days.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  protest,  because 
they  looked  with  simple  faith  to  the  caravan  and  they 
could  not  realise  that  if  we  waited  four  days  and  it  had 
not  arrived,  starvation  would  drive  us  back  to  Jedabia. 
The  form  of  protest  showed,  however,  how  well  things 
were  going.  They  now  looked  upon  us  as  their  friends. 
The  arrival  of  the  spy  had  made  a  bond  between  us. 
"We  knew  that  you  were  hurt  by  the  coming  of  that 
man,"  they  said,  "but  you  are  safe  with  us.  It  is  our 
honour,  too."  We  tried  to  explain  the  difficulty  about 
food,  and  Mohammed  suddenly  showed  the  fine  clay  he 
was  made  of.  "I  have  felt  ashamed,"  he  said,  "that 
we  have  taken  your  food  for  three  days,  that  we  have 
asked  you  for  sugar  when  you  have  none.  I  would  have 
liked  to  share  my  food  with  you,  as  is  our  habit,  but  we 
were  ordered  to  come  with  you  at  the  last  moment.  We 
asked  if  we  might  visit  our  homes.  'No,'  we  were  told. 
'The  caravan  will  follow  with  all  things  needful.'  It 
is  not  our  fault,  but  we  feel  it  deeply  that  you  are 
depriving  yourselves  for  us." 

This  is  the  loyal  spirit  that  lies  at  the  heart  of  every 
Beduin.  Greedy  for  food  he  may  be  and  the  stranger 
with  gold  is  not  safe  with  him,  but  once  you  are  his  friend 
he  will  never  betray  you.  These  men  were  beginning  to 
realise  our  sympathy  for  their  race,  our  love  for  their 
customs  and  country.  They  had  eaten  our  bread  and; 
salt.  We  had  shared  all  we  had  with  them  and  we  had 
taken  them  wholly  into  our  confidence.  We  were  guests 
of  their  lord,  the  holy  one,  the  blessed  of  Allah.  We  were 
friends  of  their  blood  and  religion.  The  Italians  should 
not  get  us  back.  They  swore  to  protect  us  as  their  own 
families.  We  had  won  another  fight.  "We  will  find 
food  somehow  in  the  nuggas!"  said  Yusuf.  "No  Arab 


THE  ESCAPE  FROM  JEDABIA  63 

starves  in  the  desert."  We  showed  them  a  simple  letter 
of  greeting  from  Sidi  Idris.  They  almost  prostrated 
themselves  to  kiss  the  sacred  writing.  This  was  the  same 
ungrudging  loyalty  that  we  had  witnessed  among  the 
humble  Auwaghir  whose  tents  we  had  visited  between 
Soluk  and  Ghemines.  Their  lives  belonged  to  the 
Sayed.  Therefore  they  were  at  our  disposal.  Their 
courage  and  faith  were  undaunted  because  they  were  the 
essence  of  simplicity. 

Surely  the  glories  of  a  race  which  can  give  its  all  so 
ungrudgingly  cannot  be  entirely  in  the  past.  The  great 
history  of  Omar,  of  Ibn  Nebu  Musa,  of  Harun-er-Rashid 
and  Saladin  may  yet  be  repeated.  There  are  leaders  who 
understand  the  heart  of  their  people,  but  perchance  they 
only  know  that  they  have  power,  without  knowing  how 
they  can  use  it.  It  has  ever  been  the  policy  of  European 
nations  to  break  up  the  Arab  races,  to  create  discord 
among  their  princes,  to  induce  their  chiefs  to  oppose  one 
another.  Is  it  not  a  short-sighted  policy  in  view  of  the 
widespread  unrest  in  Europe  to-day?  Our  Western 
empires  and  kingdoms  are  large  enough.  Concentration 
and  not  expansion  should  be  our  programme.  In  the 
days  of  Mohammed  Ben  Ali  a  caravan  under  his  protec- 
tion could  pass  safely  from  Tripoli  to  Wadai.  All  the 
great  caravan  routes  were  open  for  commerce  and  trade. 
How  many  are  open  to-day?  Strengthen  the  hand  of 
the  native  ruler  with  all  the  prestige  of  European  support 
and  he  will  be  responsible  for  the  opening  up  of  his 
country  for  the  safe  conduct  of  travellers,  for  the  friendly 
intercourse  that  will  allow  grain  and  hides,  dates  and  tea 
to  cross  the  age-old  desert  routes! 


CHAPTER  IV 

ACROSS  THE  DESERT  WITH  SHE-IB 

ALL  that  day  we  sat  inside  the  tent  amidst  blinding 
sand.  It  was  in  vain  that  we  shut  every  curtain 
and  flap.  The  whirling  dust  penetrated  as  if  by 
magic.  We  abstained  from  lunch  in  order  to  save  food, 
and  the  only  break  in  the  monotony  of  removing  con- 
tinual layers  of  sand  from  faces  and  note-books  was  when 
a  peg  cracked  under  the  strain  and  one  side  of  the  tent 
flew  up  with  a  scream  of  flapping  canvas,  tearing  up 
half  a  dozen  pegs  with  it.  We  used  to  go  out  half 
blinded  by  the  force  of  the  gibli  and  knock  them  in  again 
and  take  the  opportunity  of  scanning  the  distant  rise  for 
the  prayed-for  caravan.  Once  we  counted  eighteen 
camels  coming  over  the  brow,  and  hope  rose  high;  but, 
alas!  they  were  only  grazing. 

"Allah  will  send  the  solution  to  the  problem,"  said 
Mohammed  simply,  and  he  was  right,  for,  towards 
evening,  when  the  wind  had  dropped  considerably  and 
we  had  gone  down  to  the  wadi  to  buy  camel's  milk, 
which  I  loved,  but  which  Hassanein  found  too  bitter,  a 
small  caravan  of  eight  camels  laden  with  luggage  for 
Jalo,  accompanied  by  half  a  dozen  Mojabras  returning 
to  their  homes  after  a  shopping  expedition  in  Jedabia, 
came  down  the  rise.  The  situation  changed  at  once. 
These  men  brought  much  news  from  the  "belad" 
(village)  we  had  left  four  days  before.  They  knew  all 
about  our  caravan.  "Inshallah!  It  will  arrive  in  a  day 
or  two.  When  we  left,  the  men  were  buying  their 

64 


NOMAD   TENTS    NEAR    JEDABIA 


OUK   SOLDIER  SLAVES  AND  THE  GUIDE   ABDULLAH 


WELL    AT   JEDABIA 


NOMAD    ENCAMPMENTS    HOt'ND    JEDABIA 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT  WITH  SHE-IB    65 

sugar  and  their  jerds.  But  how  is  it  you  have  come  so 
far?  Your  people  expect  you  to  be  waiting  just  outside 
Jedabia.  They  said  to  us,  'If  you  meet  them,  treat 
them  well  for  our  sakes,  and  the  honour  that  you  do  them 
v/ill  be  as  if  you  had  done  it  to  us.' '  We  told  them 
about  the  spy.  "He  is  one  of  our  tribe,"  they  said 
sadly.  "It  is  a  shame  that  he  has  set  one  foot  outside 
the  belad  on  this  errand.  When  we  return  to  Jedabia 
we  will  surely  spit  upon  him.  Send  him  to  us  now  that 
vre  may  take  him  on  to  Jalo  with  us!"  We  thought, 
however,  that  the  man  would  probably  be  safer 
with  us! 

It  is  a  desert  custom  that  when  a  caravan  arrives  at 
nightfall  to  find  another  encamped  before  it,  the  first 
arrivals  give  dinner  to  the  late-comers.  We  were  unable 
to  do  this  because  we  had  no  food,  so  we  could  send  only 
apologies  and  greetings.  Just  as  we  had  finished  our 
meagre  supper  of  corned  beef  and  rice,  a  messenger 
arrived  from  the  hospitable  Mojabras  bearing  two  im- 
mense basins  of  barley  grain  cooked  with  native  butter 
and  pepper,  with  great  cakes  of  hard  sugar  and  actually 
a  teapot.  The  joy  with  which  we  ate  the  savoury  mess 
can  hardly  be  described,  and  our  retinue  made  relays  of 
strong,  bitter  tea  half-way  into  the  night.  There  was 
much  visiting  between  the  encampment  and  a  chorus  of 
"Keif  halak?"  (How  are  you?)  and  "Taiyib"  (WeU) 
sounded  constantly. 

If  two  caravans  meet  coming  from  Jalo  and  Jedabia 
respectively,  the  former  exchanges  dates  for  the  latter's 
tea  and  sugar.  If  any  traveller  reaches  a  camp  at  night 
he  is  freely  given  food  and  tea  and  a  rug  by  the  brush- 
wood fire.  Desert  hospitality  is  amazing.  Food  and 
drink  are  always  offered.  We  were  never  allowed  to  buy 
camel's  milk.  It  was  always  given,  for  were  we  not 
nomads  like  the  desert  men  themselves?  One  never 


66     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

passes  a  fire  with  two  or  three  white-robed  figures  clus- 
tered round  it  without  being  asked  to  sit  down  with 
them  by  the  one  expressive  word  "Fadhl!"  It  is 
customary  to  say  "Keif  halak?"  at  least  half  a  dozen 
times  to  each  individual,  though  the  reply  is  always  the 
same,  "Taiyib." 

That  night,  as  we  all  sat  round  a  fire  with  a  cold 
wind  freezing  our  backs,  yet  feeling  happily  satiated 
after  our  barley  meal,  the  retinue  became  rhetorical  in 
its  expressions  of  fidelity.  The  caravan  had  told  them 
that  a  motor  had  arrived  from  Zuetina  the  day  after  our 
flight,  and  the  town  had  instantly  jumped  to  the  con- 
clusion that  it  was  to  take  us  back  forcibly.  We  were 
assured  that  the  whole  sympathy  of  Jedabia  was  with 
us,  that  our  opponents  were  very  angry  at  our  escape, 
but  could  do  nothing  because  they  themselves  had  recom- 
mended us  to  the  Sayed.  I  very  much  doubted  this  latter 
statement  and  we  determined  to  move  on  the  following 
afternoon  if  the  caravan  did  not  arrive  in  the  morning. 
We  thought  that  we  could  get  sufficient  food  for  our  men 
from  the  Mojabras  and  repay  them  at  Jalo  if  they  would 
not  take  money.  I  felt  sorry  for  the  spy.  He  evidently 
wished  he  had  not  meddled  in  the  affair  at  all.  Farraj 
astonished  us  by  suddenly  rising  to  his  feet  and,  with 
hands  held  to  heaven,  calling  Allah  to  witness  that  he 
would  protect  us  to  the  last  drop  of  his  blood.  "Not  even 
a  thorn  shall  enter  your  sides,"  he  chanted  solemnly,  and 
there  was  an  awed  hush  after  so  mighty  an  oath. 

Naturally  our  spy  escaped  in  the  night.  Our  retinue 
were  as  unpractical  as  they  were  lazy.  Therefore,  when 
December  12  dawned,  they  were  extremely  averse  to 
any  talk  of  starting.  We  explained  to  them  with  infinite 
patience  that  in  twenty-four  hours  our  whereabouts,  our 
plans,  our  intentions,  our  very  thoughts  would  be  known 
in  Jedabia.  With  the  faith  of  children  they  said, 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT  WITH  SHE-IB    67 

"The  caravan  will  come  to-day."  The  ever-kindly 
Mojabras  had  sent  over  two  more  vast  bowls  of  a  floury 
paste,  somewhat  like  macaroni,  cooked  in  the  same  rancid 
butter,  so,  thoroughly  gorged,  the  retinue  were  prepared 
to  await  placidly  the  will  of  Allah!  We  had  packed  up 
and  hauled  everything  out  of  the  tent  by  7  A.M.  At 
11  there  were  still  incessant  councils  round  one  or  other 
of  the  fires.  The  Mojabras  were  determined  to  come 
with  us.  "You  are  the  guests  of  Sidi  Idris,"  they  said. 
Once  more  the  holy  letter  was  produced  and  kissed.  We 
had  become  used  now  to  its  magical  effect.  Apparently 
it  would  produce  anything  but  haste!  The  strangers 
acknowledged,  however,  that  they  had  not  enough  food 
for  all  our  men,  meaning,  of  course,  that  they  could  not 
hope  to  supply  large  quantities  three  times  a  day.  We 
could  not  hope  to  make  them  ration  it  out  in  small 
portions,  so  we  wanted  to  leave  at  least  one  of  the  blacks 
to  await  the  caravan  and  either  hurry  its  progress  or 
send  on  a  swift  camel  with  provisions.  There  was  instant 
mutiny  at  the  suggestion.  The  two  Farraj  refused  to 
leave  us.  "We  have  no  authority  over  them,"  said  Mo- 
hammed without  surprise.  "Their  commandant  would 
whip  them,  but  what  can  we  do?" 

Further  discussion  seemed  useless,  so  we  went  down 
to  the  wadi  to  buy  dates  from  a  caravan  that  had  come 
from  Kufara.  It  was  an  amusing  instance  of  how  news> 
is  carried  in  the  Sahara.  Before  the  question  of  dates 
was  raised  at  all  we  squatted  solemnly  in  the  sand 
opposite  the  merchants  from  the  far-off  oasis,  and 
Mohammed  submitted  to  a  perfect  inquisition  on  the  state 
of  affairs  in  Jedabia.  Afterwards  he  propounded  his 
list  of  questions — what  was  the  price  of  silk,  of  wool,  of 
grain,  etc.,  in  Kufara?  What  was  the  price  of  dates? 
"So  much  per  ruba  or  so  much  per  oka?"  they  quoted, 
and  for  dates,  "There  is  no  price.  They  are  plentiful." 


68     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

"Who  did  you  meet  on  the  way?"  "What  news  of 
such  and  such  a  family?"  "One  of  their  slaves  has 
run  away,"  or  "he  has  married  another  wife,"  and  so 
on  until  all  information  was  exhausted. 

We  actually  left  our  low  ridge  above  the  wadi  at 
1.30,  but  we  had  ceased  to  worry.  The  fatalism  of  the 
East  had  begun  to  grip  us.  We  decided  to  put  our 
trust  in  Allah  and  join  the  caravan  of  She-ib  and  his 
kinsman,  Musa  She-ib,  merchants  from  Jalo  who  had 
sometimes  travelled  to  Wadai,  a  route  that  takes  anything 
from  forty-five  to  sixty  days,  with  bales  of  cotton  stuffs, 
to  return  with  ostrich  feathers,  ivory,  camels  and  hides 
for  the  markets  of  Kufara.  We  asked  them  how  long  it 
would  take  to  reach  Jalo,  and  they  replied,  "There  is 
no  time.  If  you  walk  quickly  you  may  arrive  the  fifth 
day,"  but  evidently  they  had  no  intention  of  hurrying 
themselves.  They  were  a  delightful  party  of  six  men, 
with  eight  heavily  laden  camels  and  one  or  two  foals 
clumsily  trotting  alongside. 

We  made  quite  an  imposing  caravan  as  we  struck  the 
track  a  little  to  the  east  and  the  camels  began  to  march 
together.  It  was  headed  by  old  She-ib,  sitting  upright 
on  the  top  of  great  green  boxes  of  merchandise,  a  rifle 
on  his  back,  a  huge  revolver  slung  beside  him  in  a  scarlet 
holster,  his  ebony  face  half -covered,  against  the  dust,  in 
the  folds  of  his  white  kufiya.  Hassanein's  brilliant  kufiya 
— orange,  yellow  and  emerald — made  a  gorgeous  flash  of 
colour  on  another  camel  and  I  followed,  huddled  under 
the  shrouding  barracan,  for  I  must  not  show  my  face  to 
the  strange  caravan.  Thus  fate  played  a  new  card  and 
decided  that  we  should  wander  slowly  south  with  the 
Mojabra  merchants  and  learn  yet  another  phase  of 
Beduin  life. 

Time  forgetting  and  by  time  forgot,  indifferent  to 
the  caravan  of  stores  that  might  or  might  not  be  follow- 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT  WITH  SHE-IB    69 

ing,  we  drifted  incredibly  slowly  along  the  vague  track 
marked  by  occasional  cairns  of  stones.  The  aspect  of 
the  country  had  slightly  changed  since  we  left  the  wadi. 
It  became  undulating,  with  a  series  of  slight  waves 
running  from  east  to  west,  while  the  vegetation  grew 
scantier  and  scantier,  till  finally  only  a  few  tufts  of  coarse 
grey  bush  a  few  inches  high  broke  the  wilderness  of  sand. 
At  3  P.M.  the  undulating  country  lay  behind  us,  and  we 
were  on  an  absolutely  flat  plain.  Two  specks  appeared 
in  the  distance  to  materialise  into  a  couple  of  travellers 
on  camels.  They  paused  to  ask  our  news  and  on  hear- 
ing we  were  bound  for  Kufara  they  entrusted  Yusuf  with 
a  few  mejidies  to  be  paid  to  somebody  at  our  destination. 
If  he  did  not  get  there  himself,  he  was  to  hand  the 
money  on  to  another  traveller.  This  transaction  was 
evidently  a  usual  one  and  roused  no  comment. 

She-ib  decided  to  camp  shortly  after  3,  for  he 
observed  a  patch  of  slightly  thicker  grazing  away  to  the 
right  of  the  track.  Ten  minutes  after  the  last  camel 
had  been  barraked  his  men  had  made  a  wonderful 
semicircular  zariba  of  the  boxes  and  sacks,  with  its 
back  to  the  wind,  had  spread  rugs  and  blankets  to  form 
a  most  comfortable  shelter,  and  were  busy  making  strong 
Arab  tea.  It  was  done  with  infinite  swiftness  and  deft- 
ness, while  we  were  still  struggling  with  the  tent  in  a 
violent  north  wind.  The  previous  day  the  gibli  had 
blown  with  a  fairly  high  temperature  at  midday.  This 
morning  the  wind  had  been  in  the  east,  swinging  round 
to  the  north  in  the  afternoon,  yet  the  temperature  at  noon 
had  been  nearly  as  high  as  on  the  previous  day.  Desert 
weather  seems  to  be  quite  illogical.  The  ground  was  so 
hard  that  we  could  not  drive  in  our  tent  pegs,  so  we 
half  buried  the  camel  saddles  in  stones  and  tied  the  ropes 
to  them.  Then  we  were  called  to  try  our  skill  at  a  shoot- 
ing match  with  the  Mojabras,  who  had  set  up  a  piece 


70     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

of  wood  at  fifty  yards.  My  neat  revolvers  caused  interest 
and  amusement  when  produced  from  under  my  huge 
hezaam,  but  they  were  scarcely  appropriate.  Mohammed 
won  the  match  and  was  loudly  cheered.  We  had  begun 
to  feel  some  affection  for  this  tall,  lean,  hard-featured 
Beduin  with  his  falcon's  eyes  and  rare  smile.  We  felt 
that  he  might  prove  a  loyal  ally,  whereas  the  plump 
Yusuf,  with  his  round  face  and  sleepy,  narrow  eyes,  loose 
lips  and  glib  tongue,  only  thought  of  getting  home  as 
soon  as  possible. 

Luckily  for  us  the  flight  from  Jedabia  had  been 
interpreted  to  mean  a  political  mission,  and  almost  before 
we  were  out  of  sight  of  the  town  the  desert  wireless 
proclaimed  that  we  travelled  on  the  business  of  Sidi  Idris. 
After  the  first  day  it  was  painfully  obvious  to  us  that 
only  some  extraordinary  intervention  of  fate  would 
induce  any  one  of  our  escort  to  brave  the  dangers  of  the 
route  from  Jedabia  to  Kufara,  so  we  encouraged  the 
belief  in  our  mission  by  all  means  in  our  power.  The 
Arab  dearly  loves  a  secret.  Mystery  is  the  breath  of 
his  nostrils.  Our  escape  at  midnight,  the  orders  given 
to  Yusuf  and  Mohammed  at  the  last  moment,  our 
frantic  desire  for  speed,  the  spy  who  brought  a  letter 
from  Jedabia  in  twenty-four  hours,  the  large  caravan 
munificently  fitted  out  by  the  lavish  generosity  of  Sayed 
Rida,  all  spoke  to  him  of  an  important  secret,  to  be 
guarded  with  their  lives  and  ours.  We  had  ceased  to 
be  the  Sayed's  travelling  guests  whose  mad  whim  to  visit 
the  sacred  city  should  be  discouraged  at  all  costs.  We 
were  rapidly  becoming  mysterious  messengers  bearing 
sacred  orders  from  their  lord!  Soon  we  should  all 
grumble  together  at  the  task  that  drove  us  forth  in 
winter  on  such  a  journey,  but  we  should  be  suffering 
for  the  work  of  Sidi  Idris  es-Senussi,  and  therefore  for 
the  will  of  Allah! 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT  WITH  SHE-IB    71 

December  13  we  rose  at  7.30  under  the  impression 
that  She-ib's  caravan  would  take  advantage  of  the  cool 
morning  to  travel,  but  three  hours  later  we  were  still 
drinking  tea  inside  the  comfortable  semicircle  of  the 
merchant's  zariba.  Beduin  hospitality  is  always  generous, 
but  these  people  overwhelmed  us  with  kindness.  That 
morning  they  sent  us  a  basket  of  nuts,  followed  by  glasses 
of  bitter  tea.  Hassanein  went  across  to  their  encamp- 
ment to  thank  them  and  they  insisted  on  his  staying. 
I  joined  them  later,  and  the  best  red  blanket  was  spread 
for  me  beside  She-ib.  It  is  an  erroneous  impression  in 
Europe  that  the  veiled  women  of  the  East  are  ill-treated 
and  over-worked.  The  Koran  devotes  half  the  third  sura 
to  man's  behaviour  towards  women.  Ask  the  Syrian 
woman  if  she  would  lose  her  veil,  and  she  will  reply, 
"Not  till  the  men  are  better  educated,"  but  the  Beduin 
woman  only  hides  her  face  before  strange  men.  With 
her  own  tribe  she  mingles  freely,  and  the  work  is  evenly 
shared.  Often  with  the  caravan  I  tried  to  hold  a  tent 
pole  or  knock  in  a  peg  and  I  was  promptly  told,  "This 
is  man's  work.  Do  not  tire  yourself,  Sitt  Khadija." 
Many  times  when  old  She-ib  saw  me  resting  at  midday 
he  would  say,  "The  Sitt  Khadija  is  weary.  Let  us  wait 
a  little  longer."  On  the  other  hand,  the  Moslem  woman 
is  expected  to  do  all  the  work  within  the  tent.  She 
should  cook  her  menfolk's  meal  and  wash  the  dishes 
afterwards.  Luckily,  by  this  time  our  food  was  so  reduced 
that  I  lost  no  prestige  by  my  inability  to  cook  more  than 
damper  bread,  heavy  and  unleavened. 

Tea-drinking  is  a  ceremony  which  may  last  anything 
from  one  hour  to  three.  If  one  wishes  to  travel  fast  it 
can  only  be  allowed  at  night,  but  the  Mojabras  had  no 
desire  to  hurry,  so  we  lingered  over  the  glasses  while 
their  two  servants  and  our  blacks  cooked  relays  of  tea 
on  hot  ashes.  They  fill  half  the  tea-pot  with  sugar, 


72     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

another  quarter  with  tea,  and  then  pour  the  water  on 
top.  They  taste  the  sweet,  strong  beverage  half  a  dozen 
times,  pouring  it  from  one  tea-pot  to  another,  adding 
water  or  re-boiling  it  till  it  suits  them.  Then  it  is  drunk 
with  as  much  noise  as  possible  to  show  appreciation. 
When  the  host  thinks  it  is  time  to  finish  the  party,  he 
adds  mint  to  the  tea-pot,  and  the  guests  take  the  last 
sweet-scented  cup  as  a  sign  of  departure.  Meanwhile 
they  have  exchanged  every  form  of  gossip  and  told 
long,  rambling  tales  with  a  flavour  of  the  Arabian 
Nights.  Their  courtesy  to  one  another  is  amazing,  and 
it  is  an  honest  courtesy  that  expresses  itself  in  deeds  as 
well  as  words.  While  Yusuf  and  Mohammed  rarely 
addressed  each  other  without  the  respectful  prefix  of 
"Sidi"  (my  lord),  they  also  warmly  urged  each  other 
to  ride  the  only  available  camel  at  midday  heat.  Once 
Mohammed  was  riding  it,  and  he  noticed  Musa  She-ib 
looked  tired.  "We  share  alike,"  he  said.  "What  is 
ours  is  yours,"  and  scrambling  down  he  insisted  on  the 
Mojabra  mounting. 

It  was  a  very  friendly  caravan  that  crawled  south  by 
short  stages.  Our  only  troubles  really  were  Yusuf's 
laziness  and  the  grumblings  of  the  blacks,  who  shirked 
even  the  lightest  work.  On  the  13th  we  started  at  9.30 
and  camped  at  3.30,  while  the  sun  was  yet  hot,  for  we 
happened  to  have  arrived  at  a  patch  of  coarse,  odourless 
grass  for  the  camels.  At  noon  the  men  had  slipped 
away  from  the  caravan  one  by  one  to  prostrate  them- 
selves with  a  murmured,  "Bismillah  arahman  arahim." 
Generally  two  of  them  marched  a  couple  of  hundred 
yards  ahead  with  their  rifles  ready,  but  we  saw  nothing 
more  exciting  than  a  few  distant  gazelle.  As  soon  as  we 
had  unloaded  the  camels  we  all  said  our  evening  prayers, 
the  "Fagr"  or  fourth  of  the  series.  It  still  gave  me 
much  pain  getting  in  and  out  of  my  yellow  shoe,  but 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT  WITH  SHE-IB    73 

the  fanaticism  of  the  Senussi  was  a  very  strong  spur  to 
the  observance  of  every  Moslem  duty. 

She-ib  and  his  relations  always  insisted  on  helping  us 
to  put  up  the  tent.  There  used  to  be  a  regular  little 
fight  as  to  who  should  hammer  in  the  pegs,  much  to  the 
delight  of  the  lazy  blacks.  I  remember  that  night  was 
the  most  perfect  we  had  yet  spent  in  the  desert,  windless 
and  calm,  with  a  crescent  moon  and  the  strange  trans- 
lucent blue  that  you  sometimes  get  in  the  Sahara. 
Mournful,  monotonous  chants  came  from  the  friendly 
encampment  beside  us  and  the  wide,  white  desert,  un- 
broken by  ridge  or  dune,  spread  all  round  us. 

We  had  mounted  slowly  and  imperceptibly  from  the 
Wadi  Farig  (empty  valley)  to  a  low  tableland  with 
occasional  ripples  running  east  and  west  and  a  few 
scattered  sandhills  with  square  tops.  Just  before  we 
reached  Bir  Rassam,  the  following  day,  {he  ripples 
became  accentuated  into  ridges  and  the  country  looked 
almost  volcanic,  for  a  series  of  high,  square  hillocks 
appeared  on  our  right  with  some  sort  of  rock  formation 
on  top. 

We  could  easily  have  reached  the  wells  on  the  evening 
of  the  13th,  but  our  friends  had  their  own  settled  ideas 
about  camping  and  nothing  would  change  them.  They 
wanted  to  spend  the  heat  of  the  day  at  Rassam  and 
water  at  their  leisure,  so  we  were  wakened  at  5  A.M.  on 
the  14th,  and  were  actually  away  by  6.15.  It  was  a 
glorious  morning,  but,  as  usual,  chilly.  Hassanein  walked 
with  old  She-ib,  who  promptly  quoted  the  Arab  proverb, 
"A  man  should  not  sleep  on  silk  till  he  has  walked  on 
sand,"  but  I  rolled  myself  in  every  available  blanket  on 
the  back  of  my  jealous  camel,  who  divided  his  time 
between  biting  the  rival  males  and  amorous  assaults  on 
the  females! 

Besides  being  cold,  one  had  begun  to  feel  extremely 


74     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

hungry!  The  preceding  day  the  ration  had  been  two 
sardines  and  a  cup  of  coffee  for  breakfast,  a  handful  of 
dates  at  noon  and  half  a  one-ration  tin  of  meat  at  night. 
That  morning  there  had  been  no  time  for  food,  but  the 
kindly  She-ib  had  brought  me  a  delicious  bowl  of  camel's 
milk,  still  warm.  I  would  not  have  exchanged  it  for  the 
cellar  of  the  Ritz! 

We  had  left  the  last  vestige  of  fawny-yellow  earth 
and  grey  scrub  behind  us  and  as  the  strange  square 
hillocks  came  in  sight  we  trod  the  white  limestone  that 
we  had  known  in  Jedabia.  We  looked  right  over  the 
farther  edge  of  the  low  tableland  and  dropped  gently 
to  a  plain  with  the  deep  white  sand  of  the  southern 
deserts,  tufted  with  great  shrubs  and  bushes  of  sweet- 
scented  feathery  vegetation  and  clumps  of  low  palm 
foliage,  with  here  and  there  a  solitary  upright  palm. 
There  are  three  wells  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Bir 
Rassam,  perennial  springs,  two  of  which  have  brackish 
yet  drinkable  water,  while  the  third,  several  kilometres 
farther  south,  has  terribly  salt  water. 

As  we  approached  the  wells,  about  9.15  A.M.,  streams 
of  camels  appeared  from  all  directions.  Mohammed 
gazed  at  them  with  loving  eyes.  "The  Zouia  are  rich," 
he  said  appreciatively;  "look  at  the  hundreds  of  their 
beasts!"  All  that  morning  a  crowd  of  camels,  number- 
ing several  hundreds,  pressed  round  the  well,  together 
with  some  sheep  and  goats,  but  we  encamped  under  a 
mound  of  sand  topped  by  a  mass  of  palm  scrub  and  in 
rare  shelter  I  prepared  our  frugal  meal.  The  previous 
night  and  that  morning  we  had  had  no  fuel  for  fire,  so 
now  it  was  a  joy  to  make  hot  tea  and  I  was  about  to 
knead  my  heavy  damper  when  Mighrib,  the  most 
delightful  of  all  the  Mojabras,  young  and  smiling,  in  his 
torn  white  shirt  which  snowed  muscular  brown  arms  and 
chest,  assured  me  that  he  could  make  a  much  better  one. 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT  WITH  SHE-IB    75 

He  took  the  dough  from  me  and,  after  much  pommelling 
and  baking,  produced  a  charred  and  blackened  plate-like 
substance;  but  it  was  thinner  than  mine  and  crisper,  so 
we  ate  it  thankfully  with  dates  and  nuts.  Then  we  rolled 
ourselves  in  jerds  and  slept  till  wakened  by  the  postman 
from  Kufara,  who  had  heard  at  the  well  of  our  connexion 
with  Sayed  Rida.  He  was  an  old,  old  man  with  beard 
as  white  as  his  jerd,  but  he  could  accomplish  the  astound- 
ing feat  of  going  several  days  without  water,  so  about 
twice  a  year  he  travels  on  the  Senussi's  government 
business  across  the  Libyan  desert  with  one  fast  camel  and 
a  couple  of  sacks  of  dates  and  grain! 

Hassanein  and  Mohammed  went  back  to  the  wells, 
after  the  camels  had  been  watered  and  the  fanatis  filled, 
to  see  if  they  could  get  milk  and  while  there  they  were 
severely  cross-questioned  by  two  stern-faced  Beduins  as 
to  whether  we  were  going  on  Sayed  Idris's  business. 
Was  it  in  his  interests?  Was  it  by  his  actual  orders? 
Had  we  letters?  And  so  on.  Hassanein  asked  them 
if  they  were  sheikhs  of  tribes  and  when  they  replied  in 
the  negative  he  said  he  could  not  show  them  the  sacred 
documents.  Meanwhile,  the  Mojabra  chief  was  being 
solemnly  shaved  by  Ahmed  under  the  shadow  of  a  palm. 
Half-way  through  the  proceeding  he  asked  me  for  my 
small  mirror  and,  evidently  dissatisfied  with  his  enthu- 
siastic but  inexperienced  barber,  finished  his  toilet  himself 
with  a  pair  of  scissors  as  large  as  shears.  After  that  they 
all  came  and  talked  to  me,  and  I  unconsciously  did  good 
work  by  teasing  Yusuf  about  his  laziness  and  saying  he 
was  only  fit  for  a  town  life.  "I  have  left  everything 
with  the  caravan,"  he  said.  "So  have  we — seven  big 
sacks  full!  See,  I  have  but  one  tobh  and  one  barracan, 
and  both  are  dirty."  This  seemed  to  be  a  new  point  of 
view  for  Yusuf,  especially  as  the  Mojabras  backed  me 
up.  "We  have  seen  that  they  share  everything  they 


76     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

have  with  you.  What  more  do  you  want?"  said  She-ib. 
"Even  now  you  are  wearing  the  Sitt's  coat."  Our 
retinue  had  complained  bitterly  of  cold  one  night  at 
Wadi  Farig,  so  we  had  lent  them  two  fleece-lined 
waterproofs  which  we  had  hidden  in  our  bedding  and 
they  wore  them  day  and  night,  even  in  the  fierce 
noon  sun! 

We  departed  leisurely  at  3.30  P.M.  and  trekked 
through  blinding,  white  sand,  soft  and  deep,  till  8.30 
P.M.,  but  the  last  hour  we  went  very  slow,  as  the 
grey  brush  appeared  again  and  the  camels  grazed  as  they 
walked.  We  passed  a  herd  grazing  and  She-ib  went  to 
greet  the  owners,  encamped  in  a  zariba  of  piled  luggage, 
and  to  drink  strong  tea.  We  camped  under  some  huge 
grey  bushes  with  a  wonderfully  sweet  scent  and  ate  the 
rest  of  Mighrib's  black  damper,  with  camel's  milk  and  a 
half-ration  of  meat,  while  another  marvellous  sunset 
painted  feathers  of  flame  and  rose  below  the  silver  sickle 
moon. 

We  used  to  shut  the  tent  flaps  after  our  evening  meal 
to  write  our  diaries  and  make  our  simple  route  maps, 
for  if  we  pulled  out  note-books  and  pencil  in  the  daytime 
it  caused  great  suspicion.  We  had  made  plans  in 
England,  while  lunching  in  the  oriental  splendour  of 
Claridge's,  to  do  a  little  survey  work  in  Libya,  but  we 
had  not  counted  with  the  fanaticism  of  the  Senussi.  It 
seems  to  me  now  that  we  were  mad  to  imagine  that  a 
Christian  could  show  his  or  her  face  beyond  Jedabia, 
in  a  land  where  it  is  every  man's  sacred  duty  to  kill  the 
Nasrani.  True,  the  mental  atmosphere  had  changed  since 
the  first  day  out,  when,  if  we  carelessly  asked  the  name 
of  any  tribe  or  district,  we  were  looked  upon  as  spies. 
At  our  first  camp  I  told  one  of  the  blacks  to  fetch  me  a 
camel,  whereupon  he  turned  to  his  fellow-soldier  exclaim- 
ing, "Are  we  to  be  ordered  about  by  a  cursed  Christian 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT  WITH  SHE-IB    77 

woman?  One  bullet  and  we  will  send  her  back  to  her 
Christian  country!" 

After  that  their  attitude  had  changed.  "The  ways 
of  Allah  are  strange,"  they  said,  "for  she  is  in  truth  a 
Moslem."  Still,  the  general  friendliness  did  not  extend 
to  instruments  or  diaries.  "Why  do  you  need  a  com- 
pass?" asked  Yusuf.  "We  know  the  road  as  we  know 
our  own  hearts."  We  took  the  hint  and  hid  our  com- 
passes under  the  voluminous  folds  of  our  native  dress, 
studying  them  only  in  secret.  The  barometer  amused 
them  because  it  showed  what  the  weather  was  like,  so 
the  actual  retinue  did  not  mind  its  occasional  presence 
outside  our  tent,  but  it  had  to  be  concealed  from  all 
visitors.  A  theodolite  would  have  been  an  absolute 
impossibility.  Anything  that  suggested  map-making 
was  abhorrent  to  our  guides.  "We  carry  the  road  in 
our  heads,"  they  said.  I  dared  not  even  write  an 
ordinary  diary  in  public  unless  I  could  pretend  it  was 
a  letter ! 

Gradually  we  drew  them  on  to  talk  about  routes  and 
places  with  rather  less  suspicion,  but  for  a  long  time  it 
was  a  dangerous  subject  and,  even  when  we  had  more  or 
less  won  their  confidence,  we  had  to  treat  their  replies 
concerning  names  and  positions  exceedingly  casually.  To 
have  made  an  instant  note  of  a  name  would  have  roused 
sharp  suspicion.  Before  we  could  get  real  information 
from  them  we  had  to  destroy  their  original  idea  that  we 
were  travelling  for  our  own  pleasure  and  laboriously 
build  up,  word  by  word,  deed  by  deed,  a  wholly  new 
situation — that  we  had  been  sent,  much  against  our  will, 
by  Saved  Idris  on  a  mission  so  secret  and  important  that 
it  justified  our  midnight  flight  and  the  hardships  of  an 
almost  intolerable  journey. 

December  15  saw  us  on  our  way  by  7.30  A.M.  after 
a  troubled  packing  in  the  teeth  of  a  sharp  gale.  The 


78     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

camels  ran  round  in  circles  and  upset  their  loads  and  a 
little  of  our  precious  water  dribbled  out  of  the  fanatis. 
Bir  Rassam  is  the  last  good  well  on  the  way  to  Aujela. 
Three  long  waterless  days  lay  before  us  and  the  blacks 
were  horribly  careless.  We  ourselves  used  only  a  quart 
of  water  each  per  day.  Since  we  left  Wadi  Farig  our 
daily  ablution  consisted  merely  of  washing  hands  and  face 
every  evening  in  an  inch  of  muddy  water !  After  a  week 
one  got  used  to  never  washing,  and  by  the  time  we 
reached  Aujela  we  had  forgotten  even  to  feel  dirty!  It 
became  a  competition  who  could  use  least  water  and  so 
prepare  for  the  deadly  Kufara  route  with  its  one  well  in 
twelve  hard  days. 

December  15  provided  us  with  few  incidents.  We 
did  a  dreary  seven  hours'  riding  with  a  cold  south  wind 
blowing  straight  in  our  faces.  We  wrapped  our  jerds 
and  blankets  round  us  and  tried  to  pretend  we  were  not 
hungry  after  a  lunch  of  five  malted  milk  tablets.  We 
passed  a  camp  of  Mojabras  who  were  resting  for  an  hour 
at  midday  while  their  camels  grazed  and,  as  I  hid  my 
face  in  my  barracan  and  urged  on  my  camel,  Hassanein 
went  with  She-ib  and  Mohammed  to  greet  them.  When 
he  rejoined  me  twenty  minutes  later  I  asked  him  with 
primitive  fierceness,  "Did  they  give  you  tea?"  before 
I  realised  to  what  ridiculous  depths  hunger  drives  one! 
He  looked  at  me  with  wan  blankness.  "No  luck,"  he 
said  grimly;  "but  they  asked  us  to  wait  for  them  at 
sunset." 

The  one  cheerful  moment  was  when,  about  2  P.M.,  I 
produced  a  thermos  flask  and  offered  each  of  She-ib's 
caravan  a  mouthful  of  hot  tea.  "There  is  no  fire,"  said 
the  old  man.  "We  cannot  stop  to  make  one."  It  was 
Hassanein's  greatest  triumph.  I  had  fought  against 
bringing  that  huge  flash.  It  was  bulky,  heavy  and,  of 
course,  it  had  no  case  or  strap.  It  was  his  pet  possession, 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT  WITH  SHE-IB    79 

however,  and  though  I  firmly  discarded  it  half  a  dozen 
times,  it  always  reappeared.  Now  Musa  She-ib  drank 
from  it,  amazed.  "But  where  is  the  fire?"  he  asked; 
and,  lest  we  should  be  shot  as  magicians,  we  instantly 
entered  into  intricate  explanations  as  to  the  making  of 
a  thermos. 

We  met  but  one  traveller  on  that  cold,  dusty  day. 
"Now  for  our  newspaper,"  said  Hassanein.  "It  is 
rather  a  late  edition."  But  the  man  was  devoid  of  news 
save  that  a  caravan  might  possibly  be  starting  from 
Jalo  for  Wadai  within  a  week  or  two.  As  for  our  own 
caravan,  the  Mojabras,  who  proposed  to  join  us  that 
night,  had  made  a  quick  journey  from  Jedabia,  leaving 
on  the  morning  of  the  12th,  three  days  after  She-ib. 
They  told  us  our  men  were  still  buying  "necessities,"  but 
proposed  to  start  next  day.  From  that  moment  I  think 
we  mutually  decided  against  putting  any  faith  in  their 
arrival.  The  behaviour  of  the  two  blacks  had  made  us 
realise  the  danger  of  being  at  the  mercy  of  a  dozen  such 
creatures  for  thirteen  days,  beyond  reach  of  any  human 
aid.  If  the  water  ran  short  they  would  certainly  steal 
ours.  In  order  to  be  able  to  over-eat  they  would  probably 
overload  the  camels.  They  would  refuse  to  start  early 
or  ride  hard.  Consequently  the  perils  of  the  waterless 
seven  days,  after  which  time  the  camels  begin  to  get 
tired,  would  become  insuperable.  We  began  planning 
to  leave  Jalo  before  them,  taking  only  Mohammed  and 
Yusuf  and  a  couple  of  reliable  guides. 

The  last  hour  of  the  day's  march  is  generally  the 
most  cheerful,  for  everybody  is  in  a  hurry  to  reach  camp, 
and  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  camels  walk  more  quickly 
and  straighter  to  the  sound  of  singing.  Therefore  the 
blacks  and  She-ib's  drivers  used  to  chant  wild  melodies 
of  love  and  prowess  till  even  my  great  blond  beast  forgot 
his  amorous  gurglings  and  kept  his  nose  in  a  bee-line  for 


80     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

the  horizon.  That  particular  day  we  had  ridden  due 
south  across  rolling  sandy  country  without  much  vegeta- 
tion except  where  the  sudden  square  hills  and  mounds 
appeared  on  our  left  at  Bir  Mareg,  some  18  kilometres 
from  Rassam.  The  well  holds  only  salt,  undrinkable 
water,  but  around  it  there  is  about  a  mile  of  rough  scrub 
with  large  bushes  of  the  scented  furze  which  had  per- 
fumed our  sleep  the  preceding  night.  On  the  only  maps 
I  have  seen  a  green  wadi  is  marked  running  the  whole 
way  from  Rassam  to  Aujela,  but  it  exists  only  in  the 
imagination  of  the  chart-maker.  In  reality  there  is  no 
trace  of  valley  or  of  verdure. 

Across  rolling  white  sand  we  rode  till  3  P.M.,  under 
a  sandy  rock  a  few  hundred  yards  from  a  square  hill 
called  Arida.  We  camped  by  the  last  patch  of  rare  fuel. 
The  south  wind  rose  in  the  night  and  added  more  sand 
to  ourselves  and  our  surroundings.  The  tent  pegs  on  one 
side  blew  up  and  we  crawled  out  in  murky  darkness  to 
knock  them  in  again. 

December  16  saw  us  started  by  7.30,  for  the  Farraj 
had  succeeded  in  upsetting  one  of  the  fanatis  and  old 
She-ib  was  wisely  frightened  about  our  water  supply. 
Feeling  that  a  certain  amount  of  sympathy  now  existed 
between  ourselves  and  our  retinue,  we  tried  the  passo- 
meter for  the  first  time  that  day.  The  nervous  "naga" 
ridden  by  Hassanein  objected  strongly  and,  as  she  always 
progressed  in  circles,  she  was  not  of  much  use.  My 
stately  beast  never  altered  his  step  except  to  bite  one  of 
the  other  animals  and  after  a  few  furious  stamps  he 
submitted  to  the  strap  across  his  knee,  but  the  labour  of 
keeping  him  absolutely  straight  for  eight  hours  on  end 
was  very  trying.  However,  the  instrument  measured 
fairly  accurately,  and  after  an  eight  hours'  march  it  gave 
us  36  kilometres. 

There  is  no  one  track  from  Jedabia  to  Aujela.    The 


SAVED   RIDA   ES   SEXUSSI 


THE    AUTHOR    IX    BEDUIX    DRESS 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT  WITH  SHE-IB    81 

distance  as  the  crow  flies  is  about  220  kilometres.  There 
is  a  main  route  as  far  as  Wadi  Farig.  Thereafter  one 
may  wander  south  anywhere  on  a  stretch  some  ten  miles 
broad.  We  travelled  on  the  route  which  our  friends  con- 
sidered provided  the  best  fuel  and  grass,  but  it  was  the 
least  frequented  and,  therefore,  the  most  dangerous. 
"No  one  comes  by  this  track  without  fear  of  a  battle," 
said  the  delightful  Mighrib,  and  hardly  half  an  hour  later 
a  party  of  eight  men,  without  camels,  six  blacks  and  two 
Arabs,  appeared  from  the  sand  mounds.  "Der salaam! 
We  are  going  to  be  attacked,"  said  She-ib  with  calm 
interest.  Any  party  of  men  without  camels  is  looked 
upon  with  suspicion  in  the  desert.  Thus  travel  the  robber 
bands  in  order  to  be  able  to  scatter  quickly.  "Some  of 
them  will  come  up  and  talk  to  us.  Their  friends  will 
be  hidden  behind  those  mounds.  They  will  fire  into  the 
air  to  attract  our  attention  and  then  the  people  who  are 
talking  to  us  will  attack  us.  If  they  kill  us  they  will 
take  the  caravan."  The  blacks  cheered  up  at  once.  The 
prospect  of  a  fight  always  stimulated  them.  Even-body 
pulled  out  a  rifle,  but  evidently  the  display  of  force  or 
the  Sudanese  intimidated  the  mysterious  party,  for  they 
suddenly  sheered  off  without  any  salutation  and  vanished 
as  suddenly  as  they  had  appeared. 

It  is  curious  the  fear  with  which  the  Beduins  regard 
the  black  slaves  who  are  sent  from  the  Sudan  as  boys 
of  eight  or  ten  and  who  are  trained  as  soldiers  by  the 
Senussi  family.  They  are  more  brutes  than  men.  I 
have  seen  sheer  murder  in  the  eyes  of  the  toothless 
Farraj  when  I  refused  him  extra  sugar,  yet  they  are 
courageous  and  faithful  to  their  masters.  A  good  black 
slave  like  Ali,  our  beloved  cook  at  Jedabia,  is  worth  his 
weight  in  gold.  There  was  much  difference  of  character 
between  the  Farraj es.  One  had  a  square,  bestial  face  with 
a  few  broken  yellow  teeth.  He  was  a  grumbler  and 


82     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

infinitely  lazy,  shirking  all  work,  stealing  everything  he 
could  lay  his  hands  on.  The  other  was  big,  brutal  and 
stupid  with  something  of  the  nature  of  a  kindly  bulldog. 
He  would  occasionally  return  us  dates  or  flour,  saying, 
"We  have  enough.  Why  do  you  not  eat  yourselves?" 
We  thought  he  might  be  turned  into  a  good  servant 
eventually,  for  he  did  not  mind  cooking  and  washing  up. 
The  point  of  view  of  both  was  that  they  were  soldiers  and 
not  servants.  They  were  prepared  to  fight,  but  not  to 
work.  As  a  matter  of  fact  a  caravan  guarded  by  blacks 
is  rarely  attacked,  as  the  Beduins  know  it  will  generally 
be  defended  to  the  last  inch. 

When  first  the  rumour  spread  through  Jedabia  that 
a  rich  woman  was  travelling  into  the  interior  and  a  guard 
of  sorts  became  necessary,  Sayed  Rida  instantly  offered 
some  of  his  soldier  slaves.  Not  till  after  we  left  the  little 
mud  belad  on  the  edge  of  the  world  did  we  grasp  all  the 
threads  of  the  situation  we  left  behind.  It  had  been  a 
cunning  woof  of  plot  and  counter-plot  from  the  moment 
when  the  aged  ekhwan,  Haji  Fetater,  had  vowed  on  the 
"Fatha"  to  take  the  Englishwoman  safely  to  the  Holy 
Oasis,  to  the  night  of  our  desperate  flight  without  other 
guard  than  Mohammed  and  Yusuf.  From  the  very  day 
we  first  spoke  tentatively  of  our  journey  among  the 
Ulema  of  Jedabia,  one  ekhwan,  fanatical  and  terror- 
stricken,  had  been  strongly  opposed  to  it.  He  success- 
fully dissuaded  Haji  Fetater  from  accompanying  us. 
"You  are  too  old,"  he  said.  "You  will  die  on  the  road. 
Where  is  your  dignity?  Is  this  travelling  with  a  Nasrani 
to  be  your  last  action  on  earth?  Heaven  forbid!"  As 
the  ancient  man  was  over  eighty  we  were  not  sorry  to 
hear  of  his  change  of  front. 

Another  ekhwan  was  suggested,  but  as  he  asked  for 
forty  men  to  protect  us,  among  whom  only  ten  were  to 
be  blacks,  our  suspicions  were  aroused  and  we  refused  his 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT  WITH  SHE-IB    83 

company.  We  learned  afterwards  that,  believing  the 
bazaar  rumour  about  our  wealth,  he  had  planned  to  kill 
us  in  the  desert,  seize  our  money  and  return  sorrowfully, 
saying  that  a  vast  force  of  Tebu  spearmen  had  attacked, 
us,  that  he  had  defended  us  gallantly,  but  that  we  and 
all  the  blacks  had  been  killed.  This  because  he  knew  that 
the  Sudanese  would  fulfil  the  orders  given  by  their  master 
the  Sayed  and  protect  us  to  the  last.  There  is  always 
faint  friction  between  these  black  warrior  slaves  and  the 
Arabs.  They  could  never  combine.  For  this  reason  the 
crafty  ekhwan  decided  that  his  force  must  be  large 
enough  to  murder  the  soldiers  as  well  as  us.  The  pro- 
portion of  Beduin  to  Sudanese  shows  his  high  opinion 
of  the  latter's  value.  Their  ruthlessness  is  encouraged 
by  every  means,  even  by  brutal  punishment.  If  a  soldier 
disobeys  an  order  he  is  flogged  or  his  hand  is  cut  off! 

December  16  was  enlivened  by  Mohammed's  marriage 
prospects.  One  Omar,  owner  of  two  or  three  camels,  a 
one-eyed  creature  of  hideous  and  ferocious  aspect,  was 
travelling  with  She-ib's  caravan.  He  was  reputed  to  have 
a  very  beautiful  sister.  Mohammed  was  thrilled.  He 
made  discreet  inquiries  and  finally  offered  to  marry  the 
girl  on  his  return  journey.  Mohammed  was  a  big  man 
in  the  eyes  of  the  Beduin.  He  enjoyed  the  confidence 
of  the  Sayed  and,  moreover,  he  was  tall  and  straight  and 
clean  of  limb,  a  fine  lean  Arab  with  pride  of  race  and 
tradition  written  all  over  him.  Omar  accepted  the  suitor 
at  once  and  three  camels  were  agreed  upon  as  the  dowry 
to  be  paid  by  the  bridegroom  to  the  bride's  father. 
Thereafter  everyone  made  plans  for  marrying,  mostly  for 
the  third  and  fourth  time.  Hassanein  heard  there  were 
slaves  to  be  bought  at  Kufara  and  he  instantly  decided 
to  add  a  beautiful  one  to  his  possessions  when  we  reached 
our  far-off  goal. 

There  was  one  member  of  the  caravan  who  took  no 


84     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

part  in  the  plans.  For  five  days  he  had  plodded  along 
with  the  party,  singing  and  talking  cheerfully,  doing  his 
share  of  the  work,  and  we  never  guessed  that  he  was 
different  from  the  rest  till  Mohammed,  in  his  excess  of 
matrimonial  enthusiasm,  let  go  the  camel  he  was  leading 
and  called  out,  "Ya  Amma!  Imsikhu!"  (Thou  blind 
one!  Catch  him!)  Unfalteringly  the  sightless  boy 
caught  the  beast.  It  was  most  extraordinary.  There- 
after I  watched  him  carefully.  I  saw  him  driving  camels 
in  the  right  direction.  He  measured  distance  much 
better  than  the  others.  He  was  more  accurate  in  his 
judgment  of  time.  He  reminded  me  of  the  famous 
mediaeval  Arabian  Bashar,  the  blind  poet  of  Aleppo,  who, 
arriving  in  a  certain  city,  was  told  to  bend  his  head  in 
one  of  the  streets  as  a  beam  was  stretched  across  it  from 
one  house  to  another.  Ten  years  later  he  rode  into  the 
same  town,  and  his  companions  were  surprised  because 
he  bowed  low  in  the  middle  of  an  empty  road.  "Is  the 
beam  still  here?"  he  asked. 

The  Beduins  have  no  idea  of  distance.  "How  many 
hours  is  it  to  Aujela?"  one  asked.  "There  are  no 
hours  in  the  desert,"  they  replied.  "We  do  not  know 
them."  "Are  there  days  in  the  desert?"  "Yes,  there 
are  days.  If  you  walk  quickly  it  is  one  thing.  If  you 
do  not  let  yourself  out,  it  is  another  thing."  The 
difficulty  in  measuring  by  day  is  that,  except  on  the 
big  caravan  routes,  each  man's  estimate  of  distance  varies 
according  to  his  energy.  The  whole  life  of  a  Beduin  is 
reduced  to  the  simplest  possible  effect.  He  uses  very 
few  words.  The  same  verb  has  a  dozen  meanings.  For 
instance,  "Shil"  means  anything  from  "take  away, 
pick  up,  carry,  put  on,  throw  away,  to  pack,  unpack, 
drop,  lose,"  etc.  "Akkal"  should  mean  to  eat  food,  but 
when  two  camels  fought  hideously  Mohammed  said, 
"They  are  eating  each  other."  Desert  Arabs  have  no 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT  WITH  SHE-IB    85 

names  for  plants  or  flowers  that  they  see  each  day.  I 
asked  about  a  huge,  feathery  tree  something  like  a  coro- 
mandel  which  first  made  its  appearance  at  Sawami  and 
I  was  told,  "It  has  no  name.  It  is  for  making  houses 
and  firewood." 

At  3.30  P.M.  we  were  still  more  than  a  day's  march 
from  Aujela  and  our  water  was  running  out  owing  to 
the  carelessness  of  the  blacks.  Grave  colloquy  followed. 
We  were  relieved  to  see  that  even  the  lazy  Yusuf  grasped 
the  seriousness  of  the  situation.  We  had  two  single-ration 
tins  left  and  about  two  pounds  of  flour  and  one  pound  of 
macaroni.  It  was  decided  that  we  should  camp  for  a 
couple  of  hours,  in  order  to  rest  after  our  three  hours' 
riding,  and  then  push  on  by  starlight.  We  gave  half  the 
food  to  our  retinue  with  the  last  morsels  of  sugar  and 
made  ourselves  coffee  on  a  tiny  fire  in  a  hole  scooped  in 
the  ground.  Earlier  in  the  day  we  had  collected  wood 
from  the  last  patch  of  scrub  that  we  passed  and  loaded 
it  on  one  of  the  camels.  We  hated  opening  the  last  tin, 
but  we  knew  that  we  must  keep  the  cereals  for  the  men's 
breakfast  next  day.  We  had  had  nothing  to  eat  all  day 
except  a  few  dates  and  a  small  bowl  of  camel's  milk 
which  the  adorable  She-ib  gave  me  at  sunrise.  I  shall 
always  remember  the  dear  old  man's  twisted  smile. 
"When  you  are  happy  I  am  happy,"  he  said.  "For 
the  honour  of  the  Sayed  we  would  carry  you  on  our 
heads!"  Luckily  it  was  a  glorious  night.  At  5  P.M. 
we  said  our  sunset  prayers  and  to  the  usual  formalities  I 
added  a  very  passionate  supplication  that  we  might  reach 
Aujela  on  the  morrow.  I  should  never  have  believed  it 
possible  for  our  indolent  retinue  to  have  collected  so 
much  energy.  As  the  evening  star  rose  red  above  the 
horizon  the  camels  were  loaded  and  at  5.30  we  set  off 
under  a  crescent  moon  in  a  vivid  starry  sky.  A  caravan 
always  marches  better  at  night.  The  camels  cannot  see 


86     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

to  graze.  It  is  cold  and  the  men  step  out  briskly,  singing 
continual  wild  songs  and  urging  on  their  beasts  by  strange 
shouts  and  yells.  "Thou  beautiful  one,  walk  on!" 
"Let  yourself  out,  for  soon  you  will  have  rest!"  "Be 
patient,  thou  strong  heart,  do  not  stumble!"  or  else 
a  monotonous,  repetitive  chorus,  "Shey  latif!  Shey 
latif!"  (A  pleasant  thing),  "Ma  salaam!"  If  one 
person  fall  silent  for  more  than  a  minute  he  is  urged 
by  name  to  let  his  voice  be  heard.  So  in  ever-increasing 
cold,  to  the  accompaniment  of  chants  and  shouts,  we 
marched  for  three  and  a  half  hours,  by  which  time  She-ib 
considered  it  was  safe  to  camp,  for  we  were  within  a  day's 
journey  of  Aujela. 

A  few  sandy  mounds  broke  the  surface  of  the  vast 
plain.  In  a  white  starlight,  clear  and  cold,  with  the 
rising  south  wind  that  is  the  bane  of  the  desert,  we  laid 
our  flea-bags  on  the  lee  side  of  the  largest  hillock  and 
crept  into  them  without  undressing.  We  tried  to  put 
the  flaps  over  our  heads,  but  the  sand,  as  usual,  covered 
everything  and  we  ate  grit  mingled  with  dates  for 
breakfast.  We  meant  to  start  before  the  dawn,  but  the 
camels  had  strayed  far  in  search  of  scarce  grass.  When 
collected,  they  displayed  a  fiendish  ingenuity  in  throwing 
their  loads  and  tangling  themselves  up  in  every  possible 
strap.  The  wind  was  bitterly  cold  and  my  barracan  was 
in  its  most  irritating  mood  when  it  wrapped  itself  round 
everything  but  me!  The  Farrajes  would  not  walk 
because  they  were  cold.  The  gibli  blinded  the  camels 
and  they  swung  round  in  circles.  Even  Hassanein  was 
not  feeling  energetic  on  six  tablets  of  malted  milk.  In 
the  middle  of  the  frozen  muddle  I  suddenly  lost  my 
temper,  saying,  "I  will  show  you  how  to  walk."  I 
dropped  from  my  camel  and,  throwing  my  barracan  over 
my  arm,  set  off  with  great  strides  in  a  southern  direction. 
The  action  may  have  stimulated  the  caravan  into  move- 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT  WITH  SHE-IB    87 

ment,  but  it  certainly  undid  nearly  a  week's  work.  For 
twenty  minutes,  as  they  followed  my  racing  steps,  Omar 
and  Mighrib  discussed  Christians  and  their  ways. 
"These  Feranji  women  walk  well  until  they  get  fat  and 
they  cannot  move,"  they  said.  Hassanein  changed  the 
conversation  two  or  three  times,  but  it  always  came  back 
to  the  difference  between  the  Nasrani  and  the  Moslem. 

Old  She-ib  had  walked  on  and  I  found  him  waiting 
on  the  top  of  a  slight  rise  from  where  the  beginning 
of  the  longed-for  oasis  showed  a  faint  blur  of  green 
surrounded  by  a  mist  of  mirage.  "There  is  Bir  Msus," 
he  said.  "You  will  have  eggs  and  bread  and  milk 
to-night."  "I  think  I  want  a  tailor  even  more,"  I  said 
ruefully,  regarding  my  torn  white  trousers,  rent  at  ankle 
and  knee.  "These  must  be  mended."  "I  think  new  ones 
would  be  better!"  said  She-ib  diffidently.  At  10  A.M. 
we  saw  the  dark  line  of  Msus  in  the  distance,  but  not 
till  midday  did  we  draw  level  with  it,  trekking  steadily 
south  over  a  flat,  sandy  plain  with  no  sign  of  wadi.  As 
there  is  only  a  well  as  Msus  and  no  village,  we  left  it 
to  the  east  and  went  straight  on  towards  Aujela,  which 
lies  at  the  south-west  end  of  an  S-like  wadi,  whose  other 
extremity  is  represented  by  Msus.  At  12.30  we  breasted 
a  slight  swell,  and  below  us  lay  the  wide  green  wadi 
full  of  coarse  grey  shrub  with  a  mass  of  palms  on  the 
farther  side.  "Hamdulillah !"  exclaimed  the  devout 
Mohammed,  and  slipped  off  his  camel  for  the  noon-day 
prayers. 


CHAPTER  V 

TRIUMPHANT  ARRIVAL  AT  JALO 

WE  crossed  the  wadi  at  12.30,  our  faces  stinging 
and  burning  in  the  cruel  wind.  The  air  was  full 
of  sand  and  the  heat  was  excessive.  The  body 
of  the  long  winding  oasis  is  composed  merely  of  palm 
gardens,  each  with  its  separate  well  or  wells,  known  as 
Sawani,  but  the  village  of  Aujela  lies  in  the  farthest 
western  curl.  In  Sawani  there  are  only  a  few  broken- 
down  buildings  with  crumbling  walls,  where  perhaps  a 
tattered  blue  tobh  shows  for  an  instant  beside  huge 
feathery  foliaged  trees  with  coarse-grained  bark,  some- 
thing between  a  spruce  and  a  mimosa,  but,  of  course, 
nameless. 

For  three  hours  we  plodded  south-west  along  the  line 
of  Sawani's  palms.  An  ancient  square  tower  appeared 
on  a  sand-hill  to  our  left — the  morabit  of  Sidi  Saleh — 
but  we  left  it  behind  us  before  the  top  of  another  long 
swelling  rise  brought  the  longed-for  Aujela  into  view. 
The  sun  was  blurred  behind  the  flying  sand,  but  we  gazed 
eagerly  at  the  mass  of  palms  broken  only  by  the  low  white 
dunes  which  stretched  south  for  nearly  a  mile.  At  the 
farther  end  lay  the  clustered  mud  houses,  all  heaped 
together  under  the  shadow  of  the  palms,  with  here  and 
there  a  square  of  small  clay  cupolas  on  the  roof  of  a 
mosque.  It  was  very  different  from  the  isolated  houses 
of  Jedabia,  widely  scattered  over  a  white  sandstone 
plain.  Aujela  gives  a  first  impression  of  a  ruined  town, 
because  of  its  small  roofless  mud  courts,  its  irregular 

88 


TRIUMPHANT  ARRIVAL  AT  JALO       89 

doorways   and  unfinished   walls;   but  it  is   exceedingly 
picturesque  seen  against  a  red  setting  sun. 

We  camped  just  before  four  in  a  hollow  beyond  the 
last  fence  made  of  plaited  palm  leaves.  We  were  so 
hungry  that  we  could  hardly  wait  to  put  up  our  tent. 
Visions  of  milk  and  eggs  and  fresh  crisp  "hubz"  danced 
before  our  eyes.  We  sent  the  fat  Yusuf  to  inquire. 
Meanwhile,  Omar  had  departed  to  his  home  in  the  town, 
to  return  a  little  later  with  a  basket  of  fine  dates.  It  was 
a  resplendent  being  who  found  us  flat  on  our  camp  beds, 
too  tired  to  care  any  more  about  food.  We  had  discovered 
a  small  stick  of  chocolate  in  a  knapsack.  Hassanein 
wanted  me  to  eat  the  whole  of  it,  but  the  desert  teaches 
only  two  laws.  The  European  code  of  morals  disappears 
altogether.  One  becomes  a  simple  savage  being  who  may 
commit  most  crimes  with  impunity.  In  opposition,  how- 
ever, one  gradually  realises  that  two  or  three  actions, 
considered  natural  and  justifiable  in  London,  are  unfor- 
givable sins  in  the  Sahara.  The  laws  all  true  wanderers 
obey  are  these:  "Thou  shalt  not  eat  nor  drink  more  than 
thy  share,"  "Thou  shalt  not  lie  about  the  places  thou 
hast  visited  or  the  distances  thou  hast  traversed." 

Omar  had  changed  his  dirty,  torn  white  chemise,  with 
his  ragged  jerd,  for  a  blue,  braided  jubba  and  a  new 
striped  jerd.  We  thanked  him  earnestly  for  the  dates 
and  listened  indifferently  to  the  stern  fact  that  absolutely 
nothing  could  be  bought  in  Aujela.  Doubtless,  as  we 
were  the  Sayed's  guests,  he  said,  the  important  people 
of  the  town  would  send  us  gifts  of  food  on  the  morrow, 
but  for  the  moment,  short  of  begging,  nothing  could 
be  done.  It  was  beneath  our  dignity  as  important 
Egyptians  travelling  on  the  Sayed's  business  to  explain 
the  state  of  our  commissariat,  so  we  made  up  our  minds 
to  a  supper  of  milk  tablets  and  dates.  At  the  last 
moment,  however,  one  of  our  guardian  angels,  Musa 


90     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

She-ib,  appeared  smiling,  with  his  scarlet  mandil  full  of 
fresh  eggs!  Our  joy  was  unspeakable.  I  don't  know 
how  many  we  ate.  I  remember  kneeling  in  the  sand  for 
ages  under  a  calm,  starlit  sky,  half  blinded  by  the  smoke 
of  a  brushwood  fire,  poaching  those  blessed  eggs  one  by 
one.  "I  like  your  particular  sauce,"  said  Hassanein. 
"I  shall  miss  the  taste  of  sand  in  Cairo!" 

We  managed  to  wash  a  little  afterwards,  the  joy  of 
which  was  diluted  by  the  fact  that  we  were  suffering  from 
a  violent  rash  all  over  us.  We  politely  called  it  heat, 
but  I  think  it  was  dirt!  Just  as  we  had  finished  our 
eggs,  Mohammed  came  with  excitement  to  tell  us  that 
the  sheikh  of  the  zawia,  Abdul  Kasim,  with  the  ekhwan 
and  the  important  people  of  the  belad,  were  coming  to 
visit  us,  as  they  had  heard  we  had  letters  from  Sayed 
Rida.  We  had  no  clothes  to  wear.  We  could  not  even 
offer  them  the  usual  sweet  tea.  She-ib  came  to  the  rescue, 
as  usual,  and  it  was  agreed  that  the  meeting  should  take 
place  in  his  tent.  Hassanein  was  hurriedly  rigged  up  in 
my  beautiful  silk  jerd,  with  an  hereditary  brocaded  white 
kufiya  which  he  had  brought  from  Egypt  on  his  head, 
the  gorgeous  one  the  generous  Sayed  had  given  me 
wound  gracefully  round  his  neck.  The  meeting  was  most 
impressive.  The  dignified  sheikhs  sat  round  the  narrow 
tent  on  dyed  camel's-hair  rugs,  their  rifles  stacked  against 
the  centre  pole.  With  the  utmost  solemnity  the  letters 
of  Sayed  Idris  and  Sayed  Rida  were  read.  With  one 
voice  the  ekhwan  murmured:  "The  orders  of  the  Sayed 
are  upon  our  heads." 

Then  details  were  discussed.  The  matter  of  distance 
was  again  very  difficult.  "As  far  as  a  man  may  go  on 
one  girba,"  is  a  favourite  expression.  A  "girba"  is  a 
dried  goat-skin  used  for  carrying  water.  It  holds  from 
four  to  seven  gallons.  The  Beduins  say  a  man  may  travel 
on  a  small  one  for  five  or  six  days  in  winter  and  for 


three  in  summer.  After  much  argument  we  were  told 
that  it  was  actually  thirteen  days  from  Jalo  to  Kufara 
by  the  direct  caravan  route  which  goes  on  to  Wadai. 
There  are  two  wells,  one  at  Buttafal,  a  day's  march  from 
Jalo,  and  another  at  Zieghen,  seven  days  farther  on. 
This  well,  which  stands  alone  in  the  desert,  is  wrongly 
marked  as  an  oasis,  Sirhen,  on  the  map.  There  is 
another  so-called  route  from  Jalo  to  Kufara,  that  chosen 
by  Rohlfs.  It  runs  in  a  more  westerly  direction  to  the 
oasis  of  Taiserbo,  erroneously  supposed  to  be  one  of  the 
Kufara  group.  This  oasis  contains  several  villages,  the 
biggest  being  Kseba,  Mabus,  el  Kasr  and  el  Wadi, 
inhabited  by  Zouias  and  Tebus,  the  latter  being  the 
original  dwellers  in  Kufara,  from  which  they  have  been 
gradually  driven  by  the  conquering  Senussi.  Beyond 
Taiserbo  there  are  various  savage  tribal  bands,  who 
delight  in  sacking  caravans  and  murdering  their  escorts. 
They  are  sworn  foes  to  the  merchant  and  Zieghen  is, 
occasionally,  a  dangerous  halting  place,  because  the  Tebus 
sweep  east  from  their  Ribiana  stronghold,  or  the  lawless 
Zouias  from  Buseima  fall  upon  the  caravan  and  have 
vanished  into  the  desert  before  the  news  has  reached 
Kufara.  From  Taiserbo  a  six  or  seven  days'  route  runs 
via  Buseima  to  Kufara,  but,  besides  the  fear  of  attack, 
it  is  dangerous  owing  to  sand  dunes. 

It  is  also  possible  to  go  direct  from  Jalo  to  Buseima, 
a  route  unmarked  on  our  map.  One  passes  through  the 
"hatia"  between  Zieghen  and  Taiserbo,  in  the  bed  of 
which  there  is  water,  and  sees  the  dark  strange  mountain 
two  days  before  one  reaches  the  oasis  in  its  shadow. 
Buseima  always  appealed  to  me  fatally  because  of  its 
lovely  black  mountain  and  its  lake!  A  lake  in  a  Libyan 
desert!  Surely  that  is  sufficient  to  make  up  for  any 
number  of  robbers!  I  tried  hard  to  persuade  Abdullah 
to  ignore  Taiserbo,  apparently  much  akin  to  any  other 


92     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

flat  desert  oasis,  and  go  straight  to  the  country  of  dark 
mountains,  but  about  this  he  was  adamant.  He  would 
not  risk  this  dangerous  route  and  so  we  each  privately 
made  up  our  minds  to  outwit  the  other.  He  would  take 
me  to  Taiserbo  with  the  secret  intention  of  then  going 
to  Zieghen  and  by  the  main  caravan  route  to  Kufara.  I 
agreed  to  the  Taiserbo  route,  but  with  the  equally  firm 
determination  of  continuing  to  our  goal  by  way  of 
Buseima. 

Two  other  possible  ways  to  the  sacred  city  were 
mentioned.  One  due  south  from  Jaghabub,  and  one 
west  from  Farafra  in  Egypt,  but  both  necessitated  twelve 
or  thirteen  days  without  water.  Nobody  seemed  to  know 
much  about  the  latter,  but  the  casualties  on  the  former 
had  been  appalling.  The  last  Arab  who  attempted  it 
had  died  on  the  way  because  his  water  went  bad.  Sayed 
Ahmed,  traversing  it  with  an  army,  had  been  forced  to 
leave  his  luggage,  stores  and  horses  behind.  Another 
party  had  lost  their  way  and,  after  half  their  number 
had  died,  the  remainder  arrived  at  Siwa  by  mistake. 
"The  guides  lost  their  heads,"  said  Abdul  Kasim. 
"One  mistake  is  sufficient  and  you  must  die!"  We 
were  very  anxious  to  return  by  this  route,  but  they  all 
dissuaded  us.  "Return  to  Jalo,"  they  said.  "It  is  only 
seven  days  from  there  to  Jaghabub,  but  it  is  all  without 
water.  The  wells  were  closed  in  the  War." 

We  asked  more  definitely  about  the  position  of 
Kufara.  Five  days  from  Zieghen  and  seven  from  Tai- 
serbo, the  oasis  generally  called  Kebabo  is  really  Kufara. 
It  is  not  one  of  a  group.  It  lies  entirely  alone,  and  it 
contains  five  villages. 

All  this  was  told  by  grey-bearded  sheikhs  by  the 
light  of  two  guttering  candles  in  She-ib's  humble  tent. 
The  atmosphere  was  very  friendly.  They  sympathised 
and  wanted  to  help.  "Only  good  can  come  out  of  your 


TRIUMPHANT  ARRIVAL  AT  JALO       93 

journey,"  they  said.  "You  have  the  Sayed's  blessing. 
Therefore,  your  coming  is  an  honour  to  us.  Stay  with 
us  a  day  and  let  us  see  you  again."  The  air  was  full  of 
warm  enthusiasm  and  we  felt  we  were  among  friends. 

In  the  morning,  of  course,  it  had  all  changed.  It 
is  difficult  in  Europe  to  understand  the  mentality  of  these 
children  of  nature.  They  are  simple  and  emotional. 
Such  a  little  way  below  their  impulsive  kindness  and 
generosity  lies  the  almost  maniacal  fanaticism  of  their 
tradition.  We  were  playing  a  difficult  part  and  the 
threads  were  apt  to  get  complicated.  We  had  to  pretend 
to  be  poor  for  fear  of  attack  by  robber  bands,  yet  we 
had  to  be  able  to  bribe  when  necessary.  I  had  to  be  a 
Moslem  woman,  yet  I  had  to  talk  to  ekhwan  and  sheikhs. 
We  had  to  be  important  Egyptians  to  be  worth  protect- 
ing, yet  we  had  no  clothes  or  stores.  We  were  travelling 
on  a  secret  mission  for  the  Sayed,  yet  we  wanted  to  go 
to  places  where  there  could  be  no  chance  of  work.  It 
was  no  wonder  that  suspicion  constantly  followed  us. 
Tales  of  a  Christian  woman  and  her  secretary  came  from 
Jedabia.  It  was  possible  that  they  would  cling  to  us 
all  the  way. 

Apparently  a  morose  Beduin  had  come  to  She-ib's 
tent  the  previous  night  and  protested  violently  against 
the  arrival  of  these  strangers  from  Egypt.  "They  are 
not  of  us,"  he  said.  "We  must  put  them  through  the 
usual  searching  questions.  Then  we  shall  know  who  they 
are  and  what  is  their  business."  "They  have  letters 
from  the  Sayed.  Is  that  not  enough  for  you?"  said  our 
friend.  "They  must  learn  that  it  is  difficult  to  travel 
in  this  country,"  insisted  the  Beduin.  "No  strangers 
may  come  here."  Apparently  one  of  the  important 
people  of  the  town  was  of  like  opinion,  for  next  day  the 
ekhwan  were  divided  into  two  camps.  One  party  was 
for  literally  obeying  the  gracious  letter  of  Sayed  Rida 


94     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

and  giving  a  feast  in  our  honour.  The  other,  led  by  an 
unruly  Arab,  head  of  a  section  of  the  Zouia  tribe,  who 
always  made  a  habit  of  opposing  the  Sayed's  wishes, 
wanted  to  ignore  us.  The  result  was  a  compromise. 
They  showed  us  no  hospitality,  but  they  met  in  the  zawia 
in  the  afternoon  and  received  us  with  friendliness.  They 
signed  their  names  to  a  curious  document  stating  that, 
in  accordance  with  the  Sayed's  order,  they  had  hospitably 
received  Hassanein  Bey  and  the  Sitt  Khadija,  and  I  think 
they  were  ashamed  as  they  did  so,  for  one,  Ahmed 
Effendi,  who  came  from  Jalo  to  collect  the  Government 
taxes,  said  boldly,  "I  will  sign  that  when  I  meet  you 
in  my  town  in  a  few  days."  We  learned  afterwards  that 
he  had  made  a  loyal  speech  in  the  morning,  saying  that 
they  must  all  do  honour  to  the  Sayed's  guests,  and  the 
formal  reception  in  the  zawia  was  probably  due  to  him. 

There  are  between  thirty  and  forty  ekhwan  in 
Aujela.  The  sheikh  of  the  zawia  is  Abdul  Kasim.  The 
zawia  stands  on  a  low  rise  in  the  centre  of  the  town. 
It  is  a  square  mud  building  with  heavily  barred  windows, 
looking  more  like  a  fortress  than  a  college.  Below  are 
gardens  of  bisset  and  onions  with  a  few  pumpkins. 
Barley  is  grown  under  the  belad's  broken  walls,  and  in 
broad  shallow  depressions  one  sees  rows 'of  sand  bricks 
baking  in  the  sun.  In  the  morning  we  wandered  through 
the  town,  followed  by  a  crowd  of  amazed  children  who 
had  probably  never  seen  a  stranger  before.  Women 
peeped  at  us  from  low  doorways.  They  were  muffled 
in  folds  of  long  indigo  tobhs  which  were  delightful  in 
the  brilliant  sunshine.  Occasionally  one  made  a  vivid 
splash  of  colour  in  orange  or  scarlet.  They  wore  gold 
ear-rings  and  all  had  tattoo  marks  on  forehead  and  chin. 
Most  of  the  people  of  Aujela  speak  a  dialect  similar  to 
that  of  the  Tuaregs  and  of  some  of  the  Siwa  people,  but 
it  is  not  understood  in  Jalo. 


TRIUMPHANT  ARRIVAL  AT  JALO       95 

We  went  through  the  narrow  winding  paths  bordered 
by  high  mud  walls,  with  here  and  there  a  palm  drooping 
over  a  grey  feathery  bush,  till  we  came  to  the  biggest 
mosque,  with  its  square  roof  covered  with  clay  cupolas. 
Here  we  met  some  of  the  ekhwan,  who  greeted  us  kindly 
and  took  us  to  the  zawia  to  see  the  qubba  of  Abdullahi 
Sahabi,  the  supposed  clerk  of  Mohammed,  who  is  buried 
there.  By  a  narrow  passage  one  passes  into  a  square 
sandy  court,  with  a  narrow  roof  running  along  three  sides, 
under  which  the  ekhwan  sit  on  mats.  A  door  leads  into 
a  further  smaller  court,  and  from  there  one  passes  through 
a  carpeted  antechamber  into  the  mosque.  The  tomb 
stands  in  the  centre,  covered  with  gaudy  cotton  stuff,  and 
the  walls  are  hung  with  cheap  mirrors  and  ostrich  eggs, 
the  latter  the  gift  of  pilgrims  from  Wadai.  We  walked 
round  the  tomb,  chanting  the  Koran,  after  which  we 
kissed  it  and  solemnly  repeated  the  "Fatha."  The 
ekhwan  spend  whole  days  reading  and  studying  the 
Koran  round  this  tomb. 

We  asked  them  about  Rohlfs'  caravan,  but  they  knew 
nothing  except  that  Mannismann  had  been  there  before 
he  started  on  his  doomed  journey  west,  having  already 
signed  his  death-warrant  by  writing  that  he  did  so  at  his 
own  risk.  They  told  us  the  zawia  had  been  founded  by 
Mohammed  el  Mahdi  in  1872.  Near  by  is  the  old  Turkish 
Kasr,  residence  of  the  Ottoman  "kaimakaan,"  now  used 
as  an  office  by  the  clerks  of  the  Senussi  Government. 

We  had  just  finished  a  mighty  lunch  suddenly  pro- 
vided by  the  generous  Omar,  masses  of  hot  flat  "hubz," 
eggs  and  a  chicken  cooked  in  a  bowl  of  savoury  juice 
and  red  pepper,  and  were  trying  to  cool  our  smarting 
mouths  and  watering  eyes  after  burning  "fil-fil,"  when 
the  great  event  of  many  days  happened  simply  and 
unexpectedly.  We  had  searched  the  far  horizon  for  so 
many  weary  hours.  We  had  magnified  so  many  grazing 


96     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

herds  into  our  longed-for  caravan  that  when  Yusuf, 
standing  on  the  rise  above  us,  said,  "There  is  a  caravan 
coming,"  we  took  no  notice.  We  had  eaten  our  first 
good  meal  for  eleven  days.  Our  souls  were  full  of 
gratitude  to  Omar  and  our  only  worry  was  how  we  could 
reward  him  for  his  generosity.  (In  parenthesis  it  may 
be  said  that  the  only  thing  he  coveted  was  some  imaginary 
scent  he  had  smelled  on  me.  We  traced  it  eventually 
to  some  Coti  face  powder  which  I  was  carefully  treasuring 
against  my  arrival  in  Cairo  and  he  departed  happily 
with  a  quarter  of  the  box.)  When,  however,  Yusuf 
raced  down  the  hill  screaming,  "Our  caravan,  Ham- 
dulillah!  Our  caravan  at  last!"  lethargy  departed  and 
we  all  rushed  up  the  rise  with  more  speed  than  dignity. 
It  was  quite  true.  Twelve  camels  and  a  dozen  men 
were  within  a  hundred  yards  of  us.  First  came  a  stately 
figure  in  white  burnus,  Abdullah,  a  famous  guide,  who 
knew  all  the  Libyan  routes,  of  whom  the  Beduins  said, 
"He  has  a  great  heart,"  and  next  the  neat,  brisk  little 
commandant,  with  his  thin,  humorous  face  and  quiet,  dry 
manner,  the  ebony  Abdul  Rahim.  He  was  followed  by 
a  sergeant,  Mora j  a,  whose  home  was  in  Kufara,  and  six 
men.  Somewhere  in  the  background  lurked  a  cook, 
but  we  did  not  see  him  that  evening,  for  he  was  imme- 
diately sent  to  prepare  a  banquet  for  our  friends  the 
She-ibs.  After  the  first  rush  of  joy,  in  which  every- 
one shook  everyone  else's  hand  a  score  of  times,  and 
"Mabsut"  and  "Taiyib"  and  "Hamdulillah!"  filled 
the  air,  we  watched  the  barraking  of  the  camels  with 
blank  amazement.  Used  to  the  indolence  of  the  two 
Farrajes,  we  could  hardly  believe  our  eyes  when,  literally 
in  five  minutes,  under  the  shrewd  eyes  of  Abdul  Rahim, 
the  camels  were  freed,  the  luggage  and  rifles  stacked, 
and  the  men  rapidly  putting  up  the  tents.  We  could 
only  rub  our  eyes  and  gasp,  while  my  eyes  wandered 


UXLOADIXG  OX    THE   SECOXD  DAY  FROM    JEDABIA 


WADI  FARIG:    CAMELS  AT  THE  WELL 


A    HALT   FOR   THE    XIGHT 


CAMP  OF   MOJABRA    MERCHANTS   AT   BIR  RASSAM 


TRIUMPHANT  ARRIVAL  AT  JALO       97 

over  the  baggage  in  search  of  the  sacks  which  had  been 
mysteriously  taken  from  our  Jedabia  dwelling  at  dead 
of  night.  I  recognised  them  one  by  one  and  peace  visited 
my  soul,  even  though,  when  I  looked  down,  I  saw  the 
striped  legs  of  my  pyjama  trousers  appearing  beneath  my 
red  tobh,  for  the  ill-used  cotton  pantaloons  had  given  way 
altogether  the  previous  evening. 

We  asked  for  news  of  Jedabia.  "They  say  in  the 
suq  that  you  escaped  in  an  aeroplane  sent  by  Allah," 
said  Abdullah  gravely,  but  Abdul  Rahim  smiled  his  wise 
little  smile.  "They  asked  me  where  I  was  going  with 
my  big  caravan,"  he  said,  "and  I  told  them  I  was 
travelling  to  punish  some  Beduins  who  had  not  paid  their 
taxes  to  the  Sayed."  We  learned  through  a  letter  from 
our  ebony  confidant  that  it  was  the  second  messenger 
who  had  discovered  us  by  the  Wadi  Farig.  The  first  had 
searched  in  vain  and  returned  without  news.  The  ekhwan 
and  the  party  who  had  opposed  our  going  were  furious 
at  our  escape,  which  had  been  quite  unsuspected.  So 
apparently  were  certain  robber  bands  upon  the  road,  for 
near  Bir  Rassam  the  caravan,  marching  day  and  night 
to  overtake  us  (it  had  done  the  220  kilometres  in  four 
and  a  half  days),  were  accosted  by  some  armed  Beduins 
who  asked  where  they  were  going,  while  two  or  three 
others  who  gathered  in  the  vicinity  said,  "Where  is 
the  rich  Nasrani  woman  who  is  going  to  travel  south 
with  large  stores  of  food?"  "I  know  nothing  about 
her,"  said  Abdul  Rahim.  "There  is  no  woman  with  us, 
but  if  you  want  to  fight  us  we  shall  be  delighted!"  The 
disappointed  Arabs  retired  hastily. 

We  did  not  go  to  bed  without  further  evidence  of  the 
Sayed's  generosity.  A  huge  sack  of  dates  was  brought 
to  my  tent.  "From  Sayed  Rida's  gardens.  We  received 
a  message  to  give  them  to  you." 

There  was  much  "fadhling"  in  the  various  tents  that 


98     THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

night,  exchanging  congratulations  and  good  wishes.  The 
She-ibs  and  our  Beduins  were  feasting  in  one  and  the 
soldiers  in  a  second.  Several  little  fires  burned  merrily. 
We  went  from  one  to  another,  making  coffee  from  our 
newly  arrived  stores  in  true  Arab  fashion,  tasting  it  and 
pouring  it  back  into  the  pot  if  it  were  not  sweet  enough. 
Then  we  went  up  on  to  the  rise  above  the  sleeping  town, 
and  talked  about  all  that  we  had  done,  which  was  so  little 
in  comparison  with  what  remained  to  be  done.  Yet  we 
had  won  the  first  trick  in  the  game  and  we  felt  we  now 
had  a  fighting  chance  of  success!  But  even  while  peace 
enveloped  us  and  the  calm  of  the  desert  might  impregnate 
our  souls,  the  first  seed  of  a  strife  that  was  very  nearly  to 
wreck  all  our  plans  was  being  sown  in  the  camp  below. 
The  blacks  had  got  the  idea  firmly  fixed  in  their  heads 
that  they  were  to  guard  us.  They  posted  a  sentinel. 
Musa  She-ib,  returning  late,  was  challenged  as  he  stood 
beside  his  bales.  "I  am  the  owner  of  the  tent,"  he 
replied.  "Then  go  inside  or  go  away  altogether!"  came 
the  order.  Both  ruffled  plumages  had  to  be  smoothed 
down  in  the  morning.  The  soldier  was  only  doing  his 
duty,  but  the  She-ib's  caravan  had  rescued  us  from  defeat 
or  starvation! 

We  started  at  9.30  A.M.  on  December  19  for  the  six 
hours'  ride  to  Jalo  over  a  flat  country  of  fine  gravel, 
brownish-yellow,  without  a  speck  of  vegetation,  but  it  was 
a  divided  party.  The  blacks,  always  lazy  when  there  was 
no  necessity  for  a  spurt,  rode  the  camels,  perching  pre- 
cariously above  sacks  and  bales.  Yusuf  was  furious, 
chiefly  because  he  wanted  to  ride  himself.  "The  camels 
will  never  reach  Kufara  if  they  are  ridden,"  he  said.  "We 
shall  all  die  on  the  way.  There  will  be  a  fight  and  we 
will  kill  these  black  slaves."  He  went  away  to  join 
Mohammed,  and  the  two  kept  away  from  the  caravan 
the  whole  day.  Abdullah,  the  most  famous  tracker  in 


TRIUMPHANT  ARRIVAL  AT  JALO       99 

Libya,  who  had  recovered  four  of  She-ib's  camels  which 
had  strayed  the  previous  night,  following  their  footprints 
among  many  thousands  on  the  soft  sand,  led  the  caravan. 
I  kept  the  compass  on  him  for  an  hour  and  he  did  not 
vary  his  direction  by  one  point.  We  made  an  absolutely 
straight  line  between  the  two  oases.  At  11.30  A.M.  we 
saw  a  blot  of  palms  on  the  horizon — Sharruf ,  the  northern 
end  of  the  big  oasis.  Two  hours  later  we  entered  the 
wide  semicircle,  stretching  south-south-east.  The  palms 
were  thickly  clustered  at  the  Sharruf  end.  A  thinner  belt 
swept  round  to  another  cluster  at  Manshia. 

She-ib  got  off  his  camel  and  started  walking  briskly. 
Mighrib  smiled.  "The  feisha,"  he  said.  "It  is  the 
feisha."  When  a  man  goes  on  a  journey  his  wife  some- 
times places  a  hollow  gourd  or  pot  in  a  certain  position 
on  the  house-top  so  that  it  catches  the  wind.  As  long 
as  it  thrums  with  the  sound  of  the  breeze  her  husband's 
heart  will  throb  for  her  and  he  will  return  to  her  as 
quickly  as  possible. 

At  2.30  we  entered  the  thin  belt  in  the  middle.  Here 
the  palms  were  dotted  over  thick  white  sand  rolling  up 
to  low  dunes.  There  was  no  sign  of  a  belad,  though  a 
thousand  camel  tracks  went  in  the  same  direction.  A 
chill  wind  had  risen,  so  I  tried  to  go  to  sleep  behind  my 
shrouding  barracan.  When  I  looked  out  an  hour  later 
the  scattered  palms  had  grown  rarer  and  we  had  swung 
round  a  broad  dune,  so  that  we  faced  another  rise  on 
which  stood  a  formidable  row  of  walled  buildings.  The 
desert  cities  of  Libya  each  have  their  own  special 
character. 

There  are  two  separate  villages  at  Jalo — El  Erg  and 
Lebba.  The  former  looks  like  a  fortress  at  first  sight. 
Its  long,  solid  mud  houses  with  their  strong-walled  courts 
line  the  brow  of  the  rise.  Behind  are  the  quaint  curly 
streets,  the  mysterious  low  arches,  the  huddled  dwellings 


100   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

of  sun-baked  bricks;  but  as  we  drove  our  camels  upwards 
we  saw  only  the  bigger  houses,  with  scattered  groups  of 
women  and  children  wrapped  in  black  and  indigo  robes. 
To  the  left  of  the  buildings  stretched  what  appeared  to 
be  a  long,  low,  white  wall,  solid  and  even,  which  con- 
tinued, indefinitely.  Mohammed,  seeing  it,  rushed  for- 
ward excitedly.  "It  is  a  royal  reception  in  your  honour," 
he  shouted.  "En  nahs  tayibin  hena.  Ana  Mabsut!  Oh, 
they  are  good  people  here!  I  am  happy!  They  love 
the  Sayed!  They  wish  to  honour  him  and  his  guests!" 

Bewildered,  I  looked  again  at  the  long,  white  wall. 
It  was  a  solid  mass  of  white-clad  Arabs.  Line  upon  line 
of  Beduins  stretched  in  rigid  order  from  the  corner  of 
the  last  house  along  the  whole  length  of  the  rise,  at  the 
end  of  which  the  splendid  wall  of  humanity  dwindled 
away  into  groups  of  women  and  children.  Thrills  of  emo- 
tion warmed  us  all.  It  was  so  spontaneously  generous 
and  kindly.  I  could  have  cried  from  sheer  gratitude  and 
Mohammed's  dazzling  smile  was  reflected  on  all  our  faces. 
The  camels  were  driven  with  shouts  into  more  regular 
order.  Abdul  Rahim  ordered  his  men  into  line.  Mighrib, 
wild  with  excitement,  seized  my  camel  and  almost  dragged 
me  off  it.  "Are  you  happy?  Are  you  happy?"  he 
kept  asking.  Yusuf  was  dancing  with  delight.  We  tried 
to  collect  our  scattered  wits  and  march  up  the  rise  in 
dignified  fashion.  The  Sudanese  achieved  it,  led  by  their 
sergeant,  but  now  that  my  foot  was  less  swollen  both  my 
great  yellow  shoes  fell  off  at  every  second  step,  while 
Hassanein's  jerd  described  odd,  wind-blown  antics  on  its 
own. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  mass  of  tall,  grave  figures  in 
snowy  jerd  and  burnus,  drawn  up  in  military  formation. 
The  setting  sun  blazed  red  behind  them,  and  from  below 
came  the  wild  "Ullula-een!"  of  the  women.  We  came 
as  strangers,  as  pilgrims  to  the  land  of  the  Senussi.  We 


TRIUMPHANT  ARRIVAL  AT  JALO     101 

had  no  claim  on  their  hospitality.  We  had  no  right  to 
enter  the  most  closely  guarded  country  in  the  world. 
Beggar  or  prince,  Beduin  or  sheikh,  must  prove  good 
reason  ere  he  is  made  free  of  the  south-bound  tracks  to 
the  sacred  city.  Our  only  passport  was  our  love  of  the 
Arab  race,  our  sympathy  with  their  customs  and  their 
Faith.  We  dared  offer  no  other  plea.  We  asked  but  the 
right  of  the  nomad  to  travel  with  his  camels  wherever 
the  desert  called  him.  Sidi  Idris,  with  a  mystic's  vision, 
responded  to  our  desire.  "The  Beduins  sense  those  who 
love  them,  and  they  answer  to  the  bond,"  he  said. 
"You  will  go  unharmed."  We  had  received  a  blessing 
and  we  might  wander  south  by  desert  city  and  guarded 
well  to  the  mysterious,  secret  oasis.  Little  did  we  realise 
that  we  had  been  marked  as  the  honoured  guests  for  whom 
no  generosity  was  too  great!  "The  hospitality  that  you 
show  them  will  be  as  if  you  had  shown  it  to  us,"  had 
written  Saved  Rida  and,  by  his  will,  we  shared  his  lord- 
ship of  the  desert. 

As  we  approached  the  white  ranks  bowed  with  dignity, 
and  a  chorus  of  grave  "Aselamu  aleikum,  Marhaba, 
Marhaba!"  "Bisilama"  welcomed  us,  but  the  lines 
never  wavered.  We  shook  hands  with  the  kaimakaan, 
Hameida  Bey  Zeitun,  with  the  sheikh  of  the  zawia, 
Sidi  Mohammed  es  Senussi,  and  with  many  ekhwan, 
following  their  example  by  afterwards  kissing  our  hands 
and  touching  our  foreheads.  We  murmured  gratitude 
unbounded  for  the  honour  they  did  us.  "All  that  we 
have  is  yours,"  they  said.  "We  belong  to  the  Sayed." 
A  house  had  already  been  prepared  for  us.  The  white 
mass  parted  to  let  us  through.  Surrounded  by  the  digni- 
taries of  the  town,  amidst  a  swelling  murmur  of  welcome 
and  blessing,  we  followed  the  hospitable  kaimakaan  into 
the  narrow  sand  streets. 

It  was  a  strange,  muddled  phantasy  seen  through  a 


102   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

gap  in  the  folds  of  the  barracan — dark-robed  women 
peeping  from  low  doorways,  shouts  of  flying  children  as 
the  thonged  whip  of  the  commissaire  swept  them  from 
our  path,  thick  sand,  pale  walls  and  the  white  crowd 
of  kindly  smiling  elders  pressing  round  us.  We  stumbled 
through  an  arched  door  into  a  dark  anteroom,  on  by  odd 
little  yards  and  passages,  into  a  small  court.  "This 
house  is  all  yours,"  said  the  kaimakaan,  "and  the  gov- 
ernment is  at  your  service.  Food  will  be  brought  you 
and  all  that  you  ask  for  we  will  gladly  give." 

The  last  scene  remains  in  my  mind.  We  stood  ii\ 
the  doorway  of  the  largest  room,  a  mud-walled  chamber 
twelve  feet  square,  with  a  central  pine  trunk  holding  up 
the  flat  roof  made  of  plaited  leaves,  the  floor  of  the  desert's 
own  sand,  thick  and  unmatted.  The  most  reverend 
ekhwan  gathered  in  the  court,  and  the  Sayed's  letters 
were  formally  read.  "Good!  Very  good!"  came  a 
contented  murmur,  and  then  the  kisses  and  the  formula, 
"The  Sayed's  orders  are  on  our  heads,"  as  they  touched 
turban  and  jerd  and  ma-araka! 

By  this  time  it  was  5  P.M.  and  dark,  so  we  thought  it 
was  time  for  the  day's  second  meal.  The  first  had  been 
eaten  at  7  A.M.  at  Aujela.  Mohammed  would  not  hear 
of  it.  "They  will  come  back.  They  will  bring  every- 
thing. We  must  make  ready."  From  somewhere  he 
produced  mats  and  a  carpet,  his  own  I  believe,  which  he 
spread  on  the  sand.  It  is  difficult  to  arrange  bulging 
sacks  of  tinned  food  and  cereals  artistically,  but  he  did 
his  best,  while  I  made  a  royal  illumination  by  sticking  a 
lighted  candle  on  the  top  of  every  sack.  Just  as  we 
finished  the  ekhwan  trooped  back,  all  bearing  gifts — one 
brought  dates,  another  bitter  native  butter,  a  third  great 
bowls  of  camel's  or  goat's  milk.  A  white  fluttering  hen 
was  pressed  into  my  hands,  and  a  huge  horned  sheep 
dragged  to  our  feet.  Bread  enough  for  a  regiment  was 


TRIUMPHANT  ARRIVAL  AT  JALO     103 

piled  in  a  plaited  basket.  Eggs  and  tea  and  sugar 
followed.  We  stumbled  over  our  thanks  in  sheer  amaze- 
ment at  their  hospitality.  "At  least  not  the  sheep,"  I 
said  frantically,  probably  in  English,  as  no  notice  was 
taken. 

When  the  clamour  had  died  away  and  the  rejoicing 
Mohammed  had  piled  our  rich  gifts  in  every  available 
corner,  a  small  council  of  war  gathered,  sitting  cross- 
legged  on  the  largest  mat.  I  was  offered  the  place  of 
honour,  but  I  felt  that  refreshment  was  needed,  so  Farraj 
and  I  made  a  tiny  brush  fire  in  a  corner  of  the  court  and 
laboured  to  make  strong  sweet  coffee.  Our  baggage  was 
wildly  mixed,  but  the  black  rose  to  the  occasion.  He 
produced  a  tin  of  coffee  from  somewhere  and  I  broke  one 
of  the  great  square  slabs  of  sugar  with  a  stone.  We 
puffed  and  blew  at  the  wavering  fire  till  our  faces  scorched 
and  the  water  boiled.  Mohammed  jumped  excitedly 
round,  upsetting  things  and  offering  impossible  sugges- 
tions, but  the  coffee,  bought  at  my  pet  London  grocer's, 
was  good,  and  though  there  was  a  deficit  of  glasses,  the 
guests  appreciated  it  warmly.  As  I  brought  in  a  second 
relay  of  cups  on  a  tin  plate  they  formed  a  favourable 
impression  of  the  Sitt  Khadija  and  decided  that  perhaps 
her  mixture  of  blood  was  a  pity  but  not  a  crime ! 

The  grave  Abdullah  joined  us,  his  keen,  pointed  face 
with  small  dark  beard,  lean  and  weather-beaten,  burnt 
almost  black  in  contrast  to  his  thick  white  burnus.  We 
talked  of  routes.  The  fat  Yusuf  naturally  wanted  to  go 
straight  to  Kufara  by  the  Wadai  caravan  route  and 
return  the  same  way.  The  kaimakaan  and  two  sheikhs, 
Ibrahim  Bishari  and  Mohammed  Maghruf,  wished  to 
uphold  the  honour  of  the  Senussi.  Therefore,  they 
assured  us  that  all  routes  were  safe.  Abdullah  was  anxious 
not  to  go  to  Buseima.  He  said,  entirely  incorrectly, 
that  a  band  of  Tuaregs  dwelt  in  Ribiana  and  their  whole 


104   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

business  in  life  consisted  in  robbing  any  chance  travellers 
between  Buseima  and  Kufara.  He  said  that  caravans 
cannot  cross  the  steep  dunes.  The  camels  slip  and  cast 
their  loads  or  break  their  legs.  "Our  camels  are  not 
strong,"  he  urged,  "and  they  are  not  used  to  deep  sand. 
While  we  are  labouring  in  the  dunes,  the  Tuaregs  will 
attack  us  and  take  the  caravan."  "Is  there  no  way  of 
avoiding  them?"  I  asked,  determined  to  see  Buseima. 
"None.  They  will  know  where  we  are  passing,  and  they 
will  lie  in  wait  to  surprise  us.  One  man  might  escape 
them,  but  how  can  a  caravan  pass  unseen?"  He  told 
a  gruesome  story  of  a  caravan  passing  that  way  from 
Wadai  a  few  weeks  ago  and  of  a  successful  Tuareg  attack 
which  seized  the  camels  and  put  to  flight  those  of  the 
escort  whom  they  did  not  kill.  I  could  believe  it,  because 
in  the  French  Sahara  I  had  known  the  masked  Tuaregs, 
and  their  swift-trotting  camels,  date-fed.  They  never 
remove  the  cloths  which  hide  their  mouths,  but  they 
are  the  salt  of  the  Beduin  race — tireless,  fearless  and 
cruel ! 

Ibrahim  Bishari  proffered  the  fact  that  there  was  a 
route  between  Taiserbo  and  Zieghen,  one  day's  journey 
or  a  day  and  a  half  at  most,  so  if,  after  reaching  Taiserbo, 
we  did  not  wish  to  face  the  dunes  or  the  Tuaregs,  we 
could  go  to  the  lonely  well  on  the  caravan  route,  and 
thence  in  five  days  to  Kufara.  Only  Yusuf  protested. 
"In  Buseima  are  enemies  of  the  Arabs,"  he  said. 
"There  is  always  danger  there."  But  I  sternly  insisted. 
"The  honour  of  the  Sayed  is  in  your  hands.  You  must 
prove  to  the  Ferangi  that  his  influence  is  strong  enough 
to  protect  his  people  anywhere."  This  phrase  spiked  his 
guns  for  the  moment.  It  was  enthusiastically  received 
by  the  others.  After  deciding  that  we  would  stay  in 
Jalo  for  two  or  three  days  to  procure  girbas  to  carry 
sufficient  water  for  our  large  party,  food  for  the  men, 


information  about  the  route  and  generally  to  reorganise 
the  caravan,  and  that  we  would  then  go  to  Taiserbo,  the 
party  broke  up  with  many  "Aselamu  akeikum's"  and 
"Rahmat  Allah!" 

At  last  we  could  devote  our  whole  attention  to  food! 
First,  however,  I  was  taken  by  Moraja  to  see  the  sheep, 
which  had  already  been  slaughtered,  skinned,  and  cut 
up  into  bits.  "Choose  which  piece  you  want,  and  we 
will  eat  the  rest,"  said  the  sergeant.  I  picked  out  a 
leg  and  departed  hastily,  but  the  blacks  were  amazed  at 
my  frugality.  Two  rushed  after  me  with  strange-look- 
ing fragments,  which  I  had  never  seen  on  a  dinner-table, 
and  pressed  them  upon  me.  "They  are  very  good," 
they  said.  "You  will  be  happy." 

December  20  and  21  we  passed  in  the  little  sand  house 
with  the  maze  of  odd  courts  and  antechambers.  After 
forty-eight  hours  within  its  hospitable  walls  I  still  lost 
my  way  coming  from  the  main  door  to  my  room,  so 
intricate  were  the  twists  and  turns.  It  does  not  sound 
a  very  lengthy  affair  to  procure  and  issue  food  and  girbas 
sufficient  for  seventeen  people  for  a  fortnight  or  three 
weeks,  when  the  Government's  stores  are  at  one's  dis- 
posal and  the  kaimakaan  is  as  capable  and  energetic 
as  Hameida  Bey  Zeitun.  Yet  we  worked  about  eighteen 
hours  out  of  each  twenty-four.  Flour  rations  for  the 
caravan!  Yes,  the  grain  is  in  the  village,  but  it  must 
be  ground,  and  for  this  purpose  a  little  must  be  doled 
out  to  each  house  in  Jalo,  for  no  family  possesses  more 
than  one  primitive  handmill  worked  by  two  blue-robed 
women,  who  slowly  turn  the  great  stones  one  above  the 
other.  Sixteen  girbas  for  water !  Yes,  but  some  of  them 
leak,  and  there  is  no  tar  to  repair  them. 

So  it  is  with  everything.  The  soldiers  would  not  travel 
without  a  large  supply  of  "zeit"  (oil)  in  which  to  cook 
their  cereals.  Mohammed  wanted  to  have  a  change  of 


106   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

raiment  made  and  was  only  comforted  by  hearing  that 
the  prices  were  much  cheaper  in  Kufara.  The  dark 
Abdullah  would  not  move  an  inch  without  being  satisfied 
that  the  caravan  carried  sufficient  water.  The  full  army 
allowance  for  washing,  cooking  and  drinking  is  a  gallon 
per  day  per  man.  There  were  seventeen  people  in  our 
party,  so  for  seven  days  we  should  have  had  to  carry 
133  gallons.  The  largest  girbas  hold  seven  gallons,  and 
a  camel  carries  four  of  them.  Therefore,  five  loads 
would  have  had  to  be  devoted  to  water  only.  This  was 
impossible,  as  we  had  also  to  carry  dates  for  our  animals 
at  an  allowance  of  one  sack  per  head  per  day,  and  we 
had  only  eight  camels. 

Every  moment  that  was  not  devoted  to  the  considera- 
tion of  these  practical  details  or  to  settling  the  grievances 
of  the  men — Yusuf  had  several  new  ones  each  day,  and 
even  Hassanein  was  aggrieved  because  the  solemn  tailor 
did  not  finish  his  new  white  chemise  and  trousers  in 
time — we  spent  in  the  delightful  practice  of  "fadhling." 
It  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  gain  information  among  the 
Senussi.  The  simplest  question  generates  suspicion.  A 
remark  about  the  price  of  cotton  stuff  or  the  position 
of  a  well  arouses  the  darkest  forebodings.  The  sight  of 
pencil  and  note-book  seals  their  lips.  One  needs  infinite 
patience  and  understanding  before  one  can  penetrate 
their  reserve.  They  are  a  silent  race  with  rare  bursts  of 
loquaciousness.  At  an  Arab  gathering  it  is  not  necessary 
to  talk.  After  the  oft-repeated  "Keif  halak"  and 
"Taiyib,"  the  men  sit  gravely  silent,  staring  into  space 
and  sipping  their  strong  green  tea.  The  desert  breeds 
reserve.  If  a  man  travels  alone  for  many  days  or  weeks 
without  sight  of  a  human  being,  without  exchanging  a 
word,  he  learns  to  commune  with  himself  and  his  god, 
and  he  shuts  his  heart  away  in  a  sealed  chamber. 

The  Senussi  are  particularly  difficult  of  approach,  as 


TRIUMPHANT  ARRIVAL  AT  JALO     107 

they  are  a  closely  knitted  religious  fraternity  imbued  with 
a  distrust  of  strangers  that  almost  amounts  to  hatred! 
Not  only  does  the  Nasrani  not  cross  their  border,  but 
practically  no  Arab  outside  their  brotherhood  travels  by 
their  routes.  Hence  the  advent  of  any  stranger,  even 
protected  by  the  "Sayeds,"  gives  birth  to  a  storm  of 
conjecture,  criticism  and  suspicion.  When  this  is 
satisfied  and  allayed,  their  loyal  friendliness  appears,  and 
they  welcome  one  literally  as  one  of  themselves.  "All 
that  we  have  is  yours,"  is  not  a  form  of  speech  in  Libya. 
It  is  true  so  long  as  the  friendly  atmosphere  exists,  but 
one  may  have  worked  for  hours  or  days  to  create  the 
right  impression,  and  a  chance  word  may  destroy  it.  I 
think  utter  simplicity  and  little  speech  are  the  best 
methods  of  approach.  Flowery  words  impress  them,  and 
they  say,  "Thy  conversation  is  like  honey.  Allow  me 
to  return  that  I  may  drink  of  it."  But  to  themselves 
they  murmur,  "He  is  a  juggler  of  words.  Let  us  be 
careful  lest  he  bemuse  us!" 

They  always  suspect  an  ulterior  motive  and  it  is  best, 
therefore,  to  satisfy  their  love  of  mystery  and  let  them 
gradually  decipher  a  suitable  one.  The  basis  of  their 
life  is  their  faith  and,  like  every  ascetic  sect,  their  strict 
practice  isolates  them  from  the  rest  of  humanity.  Out- 
side the  distrust  engendered  by  their  lives,  aloof  and 
remote  from  any  code  but  their  own,  they  are  as  simple 
as  the  shepherd  patriarchs  of  old.  The  mentality  of 
Abraham  exists  to-day  in  Libya.  Also  they  are  as  easily 
impressed,  offended  or  hurt  as  children.  The  poorer 
people  show  the  amused,  expectant  curiosity  of  children, 
with  the  same  eagerness  to  question  and  to  learn.  Once 
they  have  admitted  one  to  their  friendship,  the  sheikhs 
ask  intelligently  about  politics  in  the  Middle  East,  and 
for  hours  one  may  discuss  the  Ottoman  Empire,  the 
Hejaz  and  Egypt.  Before,  however,  one  can  even 


108   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

attempt  to  joke,  much  time  must  have  been  spent 
"fadhling." 

One  by  one  the  important  merchants  and  sheikhs 
came  to  visit  us.  Gradually  the  circle  seated  upon  our 
one  carpet  under  the  palm  leaf  roof  widened.  Grave, 
bearded  faces  peered  from  the  hoods  of  dark  blue 
burnuses,  braided,  lined  with  red.  Sunburnt  hands  flicked 
away  the  myriad  flies  with  whisks  of  palm  fronds.  There 
was  the  plump  kaimakaan,  with  pallid,  intelligent  face 
and  stubble  of  black  beard  round  thick,  smiling  lips,  and 
Garboah  Effendi,  with  humorous  expression  on  a  face 
which  might  hail  from  Europe — firm  lips,  square  jaw,  pale 
skin,  wide,  quizzical  smile.  I  think  stray  Vandal  blood 
must  run  in  his  veins.  His  mother  lived  in  Benghazi, 
and  he  was  interested  in  the  ways  of  Europe.  There  was 
the  white-faced  sheikh  el  zawia,  Mohammed  es  Senussi, 
with  dreamy  eyes  and  dropping  jaw,  and  dear,  fat,  old 
Sheikh  Mohammed  Maghruf,  with  round,  hneless  face  as 
brown  as  a  nut,  a  succession  of  circles  from  his  little 
pursed  mouth  to  his  round  brown  eyes,  and  Sheikh 
Ibrahim  Bishari,  the  traveller,  who  had  taken  his  laden 
caravan  from  Wadai  to  Egypt,  from  Kufara  to  Lake 
Chad. 

We  discovered,  after  much  sweet  tea  had  been  drunk 
with  loud  sucking  noises  and  our  best  coffee  was  perfum- 
ing the  air,  that  Jalo  is  a  community  of  merchants. 
The  date  palms  are  a  minor  thing.  The  village  lives  by 
its  trade,  for  it  is  on  the  main  caravan  route  between 
the  Sudan  and  the  Cyrenaican  ports.  Sidi  Mohammed, 
the  Mahdi,  founded  this  great  desert  highway  through 
Kufara.  Before  his  day  all  caravans  passed  by  way  of 
Tripoli  and  the  Fezzan.  We  learned  that  ivory  was 
bought  at  Wadai  for  five  or  ten  francs  the  pound  and 
that  when  the  expenses  of  the  long  journey  were  deducted, 
the  Beduins  counted  on  making  a  profit  of  fifty  per  cent. 


TRIUMPHANT  ARRIVAL  AT  JALO     109 

in  Benghazi.  Southbound  caravans  took  needles,  soap, 
scent,  sandal,  cotton  stuff  s,  sugar  and  tea.  They  returned 
with  ivory,  feathers  and  smuggled  slave  boys  and  girls 
of  eight  to  ten  years.  Some  of  these  latter  were  adorable 
— solemn  little  beings,  with  chubby  black  faces  peering 
out  of  the  pointed  hood  of  minute  camel's-hair  burnuses. 
They  were  sent  by  their  masters  to  bring  us  gifts  of  eggs 
and  milk  and  they  regarded  us  with  aloof  scorn  till  we 
propitiated  them  with  handfuls  of  dates. 

The  friendly  circles  discussed  every  Sahara  route, 
marked  or  unmarked,  upon  the  maps.  We  learned  the 
position  of  every  well  and  the  taste  of  the  water  therein. 
We  also  learned  that  in  winter  a  camel  may  actually  go 
fifteen  days  without  water,  if  lightly  loaded  and  carefully 
driven.  Therefore,  Siwa,  Jaghabub  and  Farafra  are  all 
possible  outlets  from  Kufara,  though  a  single  mistake  or 
mishap  means  destruction.  As  the  hours  lengthened 
and  the  coffee  grew  sweeter,  we  passed  from  business  to 
politics.  The  eyes  of  all  were  turned  to  Egypt's  struggle 
for  freedom  as  an  earnest  of  the  future  of  Libya.  To  my 
surprise,  Britain  was  regarded  with  respect  and  affection. 
The  destruction  of  the  Senussi  zawias  in  Egypt  was  put 
down  to  the  result  of  Sayed  Ahmed's  mistaken  policy. 
Apparently  the  whole  country  had  realised  Britain's 
disinterestedness  with  regard  to  Libya  and,  therefore, 
had  entered  but  half-heartedly  into  the  projects  of  Man- 
nismann  and  Nouri.  Sayed  Ahmed  is  regarded  with 
respect  and  reverence  as  a  devout  Moslem,  but  his  politics 
are  regretted.  Sayed  Idris  is  looked  upon  as  the  saviour 
of  his  country.  He  came  forward  at  a  moment  when 
the  Senussi  saw  a  prospect  of  the  whole  land  slipping  into 
European  hands.  By  his  tactful  policy  he  preserved  the 
power  of  his  people,  who  respect  him  for  his  friendship 
with  Britain  and  for  his  intelligent  and  amicable  attitude 
towards  Italy.  They  look  to  him  to  preserve  Libya  for 


110  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

the  Senussi,  while  realising  that  Italy  will  always  have  a 
hold  in  Cyrenaica.  It  is  too  early  yet  for  the  new  con- 
stitution to  be  appreciated  in  Libya.  The  terms  of  the 
accord  at  Regima  have  not  yet  been  transmitted  to  the 
desert  oases.  Therefore,  there  was  still  much  doubt  in 
the  minds  of  our  visitors  as  to  the  future  of  their  country. 

When  the  broadminded  policy  of  Italy  is  fully  known, 
there  should  be  an  excellent  understanding  between  the 
Senussi  and  their  Latin  allies.  The  whole  prosperity  of 
the  country  will  depend  upon  that  good  understanding. 
Two  men  are  responsible  for  its  initiation.  The  Beduins 
owe  their  present  peace  entirely  to  the  straightforward, 
progressive  spirit  of  Sidi  Idris.  Italy  owes  hers  to  the 
Governor  of  Cyrenaica,  Senator  de  Martino,  who  appears 
to  be  the  first  European  statesman  of  this  era  to  realise 
that  in  dealing  with  Arab  races  it  pays  to  keep  one's 
pledged  word.  "C'est  une  mauvcdse  politique  de  pro- 
mettre  et  de  ne  pas  tenir  bon"  His  Excellency  said  to 
me  while  I  was  staying  with  him  at  Benghazi.  "C'est 
I'erreur  quja  fait  I'Angleterre.  Id  on  a  con  fiance  en 
moi  parcequ'on  salt  que  je  tiendrai  ma  parole!" 

When  the  candles  were  lit  and  mint  leaves  put  in  the 
tea  our  guests  grew  confidential.  They  told  us  of  their 
love  of  freedom  and  of  their  desire  for  a  quiet  life  with- 
out political  intrigue.  The  war  had  done  them  much 
harm,  for  it  had  raised  prices  and  closed  routes.  The 
trade  of  the  country  was  almost  at  a  standstill.  The 
export  of  hides  had  stopped  altogether. 

Bitter  feeling  had  to  a  large  extent  died  down,  but 
it  could  be  rekindled  by  any  act  of  aggression.  The 
Arabs  hoped  at  the  moment  that  Italy  would  come  no 
farther  inland,  but  I  imagine  that  their  merchants  will 
be  anxious  to  avail  themselves  of  the  increased  facilities 
for  trade  which  Italian  protection  will  give  to  Cyrenaica. 
Sheikh  Ibrahim  asked  about  the  Hejaz  kingdom.  There 


TRIUMPHANT  ARRIVAL  AT  JALO     111 

is  a  famous  Senussi  zawia  near  Mecca  and  the  bonds 
between  Libya  and  the  Hejaz  must  always  be  close 
because  of  the  pilgrimage  to  the  "Beit  Ullah!"  It  is 
to  the  interests  of  every  devout  Moslem,  especially  to 
these  ascetic  fanatics,  that  there  should  be  peace  in  the 
territory  of  King  Hussein.  All  were  interested  in  the 
career  of  the  Emir  Faisul  and  they  asked  when  he  would 
return  to  Damascus.  To  this  embarrassing  question  we 
were  obliged  to  give  evasive  replies,  but  the  point  was 
pressed  with  more  decision  than  usual.  "Is  not  England 
going  to  help  him?"  asked  the  kaimakaan  indignantly. 
We  tried  to  explain  the  complicated  policy  of  my  country, 
but  the  oldest  sheikh  shook  his  head  impatiently.  "Are 
not  the  English  strong  enough  to  protect  their  allies?" 
he  said.  "We  were  sorry  when  Sayed  Ahmed  made  war 
upon  England,  because  we  thought  she  was  strong  and 
powerful.  Has  she  become  weak  now?"  We  changed 
the  conversation  lightly,  but  the  little  sting  rankled. 

Once  more  it  was  brought  home  to  us  how  British 
prestige  among  the  Arabs  had  dwindled  during  the  last 
years.  We  have  won  the  war,  but  we  have  lost  the 
peace!  Maybe  we  have  lost  an  even  greater  thing!  As 
I  listened  to  the  words  of  censure  of  our  Beduin  guests 
I  remembered  the  last  speech  I  had  heard  on  the  subject. 
It  came  from  the  lips  of  a  great  statesman  at  an  Asiatic 
Society  dinner  in  London  and,  delineating  Britain's 
future  policy  in  the  Middle  East,  it  left  its  hearers 
bewildered  by  rhetoric  but  ignorant  of  fact! 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  DESERT 

THE  oasis  of  Jalo  contains  two  villages  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  apart.  El  Erg  is  the  seat  of  the 
Government  and  contains  the  Kasr,  or  Govern- 
ment Office,  the  kaimakaan's  house  and  a  new  zawia 
with  some  forty  ekhwan.  The  belad  rambles  by 
circuitous  narrow  lanes,  bordered  by  windowless  walls, 
pierced  by  low  doorways,  over  a  rise  and  down  the 
farther  side  to  the  foot  of  a  large  dune,  from  the  top 
of  which  one  sees  mile  after  mile  of  scattered  palms, 
with  here  and  there  a  well,  its  mouth  strengthened  by 
palm  trunks.  Generally  a  group  of  picturesque  figures 
surrounds  it  and  gossips  while  the  day's  water  supply  is 
drawn.  An  effective  contrast  to  the  glaring  white  sands 
are  the  indigo  and  royal  blue  tobhs  with  which  the  black 
slave-women  mingle  the  orange  and  reds  of  their  more 
barbaric  taste.  At  the  door  of  every  mosque  one  finds  a 
group  of  swathed  white  figures,  sunk  in  contemplation 
or  in  sleep,  yet  mechanically  flicking  away  the  ever- 
attentive  flies. 

I  rode  across  the  hollow  to  Lebba  on  a  big  white 
donkey  lent  by  Homeida  Bey  Zeitun.  It  is  a  twin 
village  except  that  the  streets  are  broader  and  straighter, 
and  the  whole  place  is  dominated  by  the  square  tower 
of  Saved  Hilal's  house.  As  I  passed  below  its  latticed 
windows  a  very  pretty  face,  framed  in  its  sapphire  veil, 
peeped  out.  It  was  olive-skinned  and  round,  with  dark 
kohl  blurred  round  darker  eyes,  long-lashed  and  misty. 

112 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  DESERT          113 

The  blue  tattoo  marks  on  chin  and  lips  but  served  to 
throw  up  the  gleam  of  pearl-white  teeth,  and  great  silver 
ear-rings,  red-studded,  swung  against  plait  after  plait  of 
midnight  hair. 

Lebba  possesses  a  very  old  zawia,  founded  by  Sidi 
Mohammed  ben  Ali.  I  went  through  its  palm-filled  yard 
to  the  court  of  the  mosque,  where  I  was  warmly  greeted 
by  Sheikh  Omar,  who  told  me  he  was  happy  to  meet 
anyone  with  English  blood.  He  introduced  me  to  all  his 
teachers  and  his  most  intelligent  pupils,  who  wanted  to 
show  me  there  and  then  how  well  they  could  write. 
"You  are  cleverer  than  I,  for  I  cannot  write  Arabic," 
I  said,  and  a  murmur  of  surprise  and  scorn  ran  through 
the  group.  "She  cannot  write  and  she  is  big,  so  big! 
I  believe  she  is  older  than  Fatima,  or  Ayisha!"  or  any 
other  female  relative  of  advanced  years!  There  are  a 
hundred  and  fifty  boy  students  at  the  Lebba  zawia  and 
about  eighty  ekhwan.  The  long,  low  mosque  is  very 
small,  clean  and  white,  with  its  sand  arches  and  palm 
walls — a  few  palm  mats  on  the  floor  and  a  little  painted 
"mihrab,"  fragile  and  bent.  "It  cost  two  hundred 
mejidies  to  build,"  said  the  sheikh  proudly;  and  again, 
as  I  left,  he  spoke  kind  words  about  my  country, 
which  were  balm  after  the  censure  of  the  previous 
evening. 

On  our  last  afternoon  we  had  a  council  in  the  house 
of  the  kaimakaan.  We  left  our  shoes  outside  his  door 
and  sat  cross-legged  round  the  walls  of  a  room,  empty 
save  for  a  packing-case  which  carried  little-used  writing 
materials.  "Now  is  everything  ready  to  start  to-morrow 
at  dawn?"  I  asked  briskly.  A  most  dubious  "Inshal- 
Jah  "  came  from  Yusuf.  I  have  always  thought  it  rather 
hard  that  the  Deity  should  be  made  responsible  for  the 
whole  doubt  of  the  East!  The  question  repeated,  each 
produced  a  pet  difficulty.  "The  oil  has  not  come,"  said 


114  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

the  portly  sergeant,  Moraja.  "Take  two  soldiers  and 
get  it,"  ruthlessly  replied  Hassanein.  The  man  relapsed 
into  prompt  silence  lest  he  should  really  be  obliged  to 
leave  before  the  arrival  of  delicious  hot  sweet  milk 
flavoured  with  cinnamon.  Mohammed  wanted  to  write 
letters  for  Jedabia.  Abdullah  pointed  out  that  some  of 
the  girbas  were  new  and  smeared  with  oil  instead  of  tar, 
which  would  melt  in  hot  weather  and  make  the  water 
nauseous.  Yusuf  frankly  wanted  to  stay  under  a  roof 
where  he  could  eat  and  sleep  all  day.  His  fat  face  had 
assumed  an  expression  of  habitual  discontent,  and  through 
much  yawning  his  eyes  had  almost  disappeared  in  two 
narrow  slits.  All  the  retinue  had  donned  their  best 
clothes  in  Jalo.  Abdullah  retained  his  snowy  woollen 
jerd  and  burnus,  with  scarlet  belt  supporting  his  huge 
old-fashioned  wooden  pistol  inlaid  with  much  silver,  but 
Mohammed  and  Yusuf  wore  short  embroidered  jackets  of 
green  and  blue  and  striped  silk  jerds  crossed  with  gay 
agals  worn  like  aiglets. 

We  alone  could  not  change  and  I  wondered  how 
long  I  should  have  to  appeal*  in  the  same  unwashed  red 
tobh  and  chequered  barracan.  There  is  no  good  water 
at  Jalo,  so  the  washing  is  always  sent  a  day's  journey 
to  Buttafal.  This  is  the  last  well  on  the  route  to  Kufara 
and  Taiserbo.  Therefore,  we  decided  to  depart  thither 
on  the  morrow  and  camp  for  a  day  beside  its  sweet 
waters  before  starting  on  our  stern  journey  south.  When 
they  saw  that  we  meant  to  insist,  the  retinue  became 
almost  brisk  and  to  my  great  surprise  even  the  lazy 
Yusuf  was  up  the  next  morning  at  4  o'clock  busy  with 
preparations.  Nothing  ever  arrives  till  the  last  moment 
in  the  East,  but  one  must  always  be  prepared  for  it  to 
come  just  when  one  has  made  up  one's  mind  to  do  with- 
out it.  Thus,  when  everything  was  packed,  the  hard- 
boiled  eggs  and  bread,  ordered  twenty-four  hours  before, 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  DESERT          115 

made  their  appearance  and  had  to  be  dumped  into  the 
first  available  sack. 

It  is  no  easy  matter  loading  a  caravan  that  has  got 
to  travel  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  with  a  seven  days' 
waterless  stretch.  I  looked  at  our  eighteen  camels  with 
much  anxiety.  Some  of  them  were  small  and  weak. 
One  of  them  was  a  living  picture  of  all  that  a  camel 
should  not  be.  He  might  have  been  used  successfully 
by  the  Khartoum  Camel  Corps  as  an  example  to  enthu- 
siastic young  officers  of  what  not  to  buy.  His  feet  were 
worn,  his  hump  was  soft,  his  elbows  rubbed  together  as 
he  walked,  his  chest  pad  was  insufficient,  and  he  had 
sores  under  his  shoulders.  Besides  this,  many  of  the 
nagas  were  in  foal.  However,  it  was  no  use  worrying 
in  advance.  Long  ago  I  had  realised  that  we  should  get 
to  Kufara  only  if  Allah  so  willed,  and  the  farther  we 
moved  into  the  desert  the  more  I  felt  impelled  by  some 
ulterior  force.  I  was  never  surprised  when  difficulties 
piled  themselves  up  and  then  vanished  without  reason  at 
the  last  moment.  I  began  to  feel  a  fatalistic  trust  in 
the  destiny  that  had  dragged  me  from  hunting  and  hunt 
balls  and  sent  me  out  into  the  white  Sahara  to  find  the 
Holy  place  which  had  been  a  secret  for  so  long.  The 
feeling  of  Kismet  was  so  strong  that  it  prevented  my 
troubling  excessively  over  our  weak  camels,  even  though 
I  felt  that  they  were  dangerously  overloaded.  Our  party 
had  increased  to  nineteen  by  two  black  slave  girls  in 
vivid  barracans  and  little  else,  property  of  one  of  the 
Sayeds,  who  wished  them  sent  to  Kufara. 

In  spite  of  the  utmost  exertions  the  caravan  was  not 
ready  to  start  till  11.30,  when,  amidst  a  chorus  of  kindly 
wishes,  regrets  and  blessings,  we  plodded  slowly  out  of 
the  hospitable  town  into  a  raging  north-westerly  wind. 
We  meant  to  march  on  into  the  night  and  reach  Buttafal 
about  10  P.M.,  but  fate  decided  otherwise,  for  almost 


116  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

before  the  walls  of  Jalo  had  disappeared  the  wind 
strengthened  into  the  worst  gibli  I  have  ever  encountered. 
It  was  behind  us,  for  we  were  heading  south-east,  yet 
the  camels  staggered  and  swung  round,  huddling  against 
each  other  for  shelter.  I  was  nearly  swept  off  the  back 
of  my  blond  beast.  Every  loose  mat  and  blanket  flapped 
in  wide  circles  and  loads  began  to  sway  dangerously. 
On  all  sides  palms  were  bending  and  cracking  in  the 
sudden  gale,  while  great  leaves  were  torn  off  and  whirled 
whistling  above  our  heads.  The  air  became  a  thick  sheet 
of  sand.  Sun  and  direction  were  blotted  out.  Screaming 
gusts  stung  our  faces  and  blinded  us.  It  was  the  most 
extraordinary  sight,  for  one  minute  camels  and  figures 
would  be  blotted  out  in  a  whirling  white  fog;  then  a 
head  or  a  wildly  gyrating  blanket  or  a  portion  of  a 
labouring  camel  would  appear  for  an  instant  through  the 
shroud  and  vanish  again  in  the  smarting  dusk.  We 
stumbled  and  choked  and  fell  through  the  storm  till  even 
Abdullah  saw  it  was  useless.  In  an  instant's  lull  a  palm 
tree  fence  appeared  to  our  left,  with  a  small  boy  crouch- 
ing beside  a  garden  plot  of  onions,  radishes  and  pumpkins. 
We  turned  our  camels  towards  the  low  shelter  and  they 
sank  heavily  to  their  knees  beside  a  clump  of  the  grey, 
nameless  trees.  The  boy  gave  our  guide  some  radishes 
as  he  passed,  and  in  spite  of  the  agony  of  flying  sand 
the  Beduin  turned  to  me  with  a  smile.  "It  is  a  blessed 
journey,"  he  said.  "Look  at  the  green  which  has  been 
given  us!"  It  is  proof  of  how  far  one  had  wandered 
from  the  mentality  of  London  and  Paris  that  his  words 
gave  me  great  comfort. 

I  gathered  the  thickest  blanket  round  me  and  dug 

myself  into  the  sand,  while  a  hail  of  dust  and  grit  beat 

upon  me.     Through  a  narrow  slit  I  saw  the  blacks,  with 

•kufiyas  tied  across  their  mouths  and  noses,  staggering 

about  with  sacks  and  boxes.     They  appeared  like  phan- 


117 

tasmic  figures  on  a  lantern  screen,  to  vanish  in  the  next 
strong  gust  of  wind.  It  was  impossible  to  put  up  a  tent. 
The  camels  were  barraked  in  a  semicircle,  where  they 
lay  groaning  but  not  attempting  to  move.  The  baggage 
was  piled  to  form  zaribas,  and  in  the  lee  of  these  we 
crouched  for  four  or  five  hours,  blankets  covering  our 
faces,  handkerchiefs  wound  over  our  mouths.  I  thought 
the  retinue  would  look  upon  the  storm  as  a  bad  omen, 
but  Mohammed  only  smiled  with  dust-parched  lips. 
"This  will  be  a  successful  journey.  We  shall  have  good 
luck,"  he  said,  "for  when  the  Sayed  travels  there  is 
nearly  always  a  gibli  thus!" 

Once  when  I  tried  to  change  my  cramped  position  I 
felt  something  soft  huddled  against  me.  I  peered  out 
of  my  wrappings  cautiously  and  found  the  black  face  of 
Zeinab,  the  prettiest  slave  girl,  almost  on  my  shoulder. 
She  seized  my  hand  and  kissed  it  devoutly,  while  her  com- 
panion, Hauwa,  drew  closer.  Their  thin,  gaudy  barracans 
were  no  protection  against  the  madness  of  the  sand,  so  I 
offered  them  a  share  in  my  blanket  and  we  made  friends 
under  the  sheltering  thickness.  Zeinab  was  young,  about 
sixteen,  and  round-faced,  with  curved  full  lips  and  big 
velvet  eyes  modestly  downcast.  Hauwa  looked  ancient 
with  her  wrinkled  skin  and  yellow,  uneven  teeth,  but  her 
years  were  only  twenty-four.  The  Sudanese  marry,  if 
the  parents  have  money,  when  the  girl  is  nine  and  the 
boy  thirteen.  Therefore  these  ebony  slaves  may  be  grand- 
mothers at  the  age  when  an  English  girl  is  wondering 
whether  she  is  old  enough  to  wed!  My  little  companions 
were  full  of  questions  and  comment,  mixed  with  praise 
of  Sayed  Rida.  They  wanted  to  give  me  the  eggs  they 
had  brought  for  themselves,  and  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  refuse  a  gift  in  the  East.  It  is  accepted  as  a  matter 
of  course  without  expression  of  thanks.  It  used  to  sur- 
prise me  at  first  that  if  one  gave  a  man  a  watch  or  revolver 


118  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHAHA:    KUFARA 

he  took  it  without  comment,  but  gradually  I  realised  that 
they  give  and  they  receive  with  the  same  simplicity. 

Zeinab  wore  huge  silver  ear-rings  and  bracelets  and 
an  embroidered  leather  belt  carrying  a  dozen  gay  little 
pouches  for  her  toilet  necessities,  while  Hauwa  had  tied 
her  barracan  into  a  sort  of  hood,  with  a  strip  of  crimson 
leather  bearing  some  "he jabs"  (charms)  in  tiny  wallets. 
Both  had  broad  sticks  of  scarlet  coral  stuck  through 
holes  in  their  nostrils.  When  the  storm  abated,  about 
5.30  P.M.,  they  emerged  from  the  blanket  and  busied 
themselves,  briskly  preparing  the  Beduin  evening  meal. 

By  this  time  there  were  always  two  rival  camps  in 
neighbouring  zaribas.  Behind  one  wall  of  heavy  sacks 
the  soldiers  cooked  their  savoury  flour.  Within  another 
semicircle  Mohammed  and  Yusuf,  with  the  guide  and  a 
black  camel-boy,  brewed  strong  sweet  tea,  while  the  two 
girls  were  provided  with  a  little  camp  beside  the  Arabs' 
shelter.  Mohammed  was  always  kind  to  them,  providing 
them  with  some  of  his  own  flour  and  dates,  together  with 
the  occasional  loan  of  a  blanket,  but  otherwise  nobody 
troubled  about  them  except  when  it  was  a  question  of 
cooking  or  washing  clothes.  True,  when  the  length  of 
our  stay  permitted  the  pitching  of  tents,  the  Beduins 
always  contented  themselves  with  the  zariba,  leaving  to 
Zeinab  and  Hauwa  the  use  of  their  tent,  but  the  girl* 
accepted  as  a  matter  of  course  that,  after  riding  all  day, 
they  should  cook  and  wash  and  clean  and  generally  see 
to  the  comfort  of  the  Arab  retinue. 

We  wanted  to  break  camp  after  the  evening  meal,  but 
though  the  sandstorm  had  abated  the  wind  was  still  cold. 
Abdullah  pointed  out  that  we  should  walk  all  night  and 
arrive  too  tired  to  work  in  the  morning,  which  would  be 
waste  of  energy,  as  all  the  firewood  for  the  journey  had 
to  be  collected  in  the  vicinity  of  Buttafal.  We  therefore 
crawled  into  our  sleeping-bags  under  the  shelter  of  the 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  DESERT          119 

palm  fence  at  7  P.M.,  and  were  up  again  while  it  was 
still  dark.  The  same  cold  wind  stimulated  the  blacks  to 
brisk  action,  and  there  was  a  great  deal  of  running  about 
and  singing,  but  the  sun  rose  while  the  camels  were  still 
being  loaded  and  we  did  not  start  till  seven. 

We  had  camped  on  the  very  edge  of  the  Jalo  oasis. 
The  last  palms  were  behind  us,  and  in  front  lay  the 
flattest  country  I  had  ever  seen.  To  the  rim  of  the  near 
horizon  stretched  an  unbroken  expanse  of  yellowish, 
gravelly  sand.  We  thought  we  had  crossed  flat,  mo- 
notonous country  before,  but  on  December  23  we  rode 
across  a  drab-coloured  billiard  table  whereon  was  not  a 
blade  of  grass,  a  bird,  an  insect  or  a  mound.  It  was  as  if 
we  were  at  the  end  of  the  world  and  the  round  horizon  the 
edge  off  which  we  should  presently  fall!  The  only  objects 
that  marred  the  extraordinary  monotony  were  a  few 
scattered  skeletons  of  camels  which  had  died  at  the  end  of 
a  long  march  from  Kufara  or  Taiserbo.  Occasionally  a 
bleached  thighbone  had  been  stuck  upright  in  the  sand 
to  mark  the  direction. 

It  was  a  cool,  bright  day  with  a  north-west  wind. 
Persistent  neglect  had  practically  cured  my  foot,  so  I 
was  able  to  walk  for  a  couple  of  hours  with  Abdul  Rahim. 
He  waxed  enthusiastic  over  the  extent  of  the  Senussi 
influence  in  Bornu,  Senegal,  the  Sudan  and  Wadai, 
giving  me  a  list  of  the  principal  zawias.  "Only  in 
Wadai  there  is  none,"  he  said,  "for  the  Sultan  said  to 
Sidi  Ben  Ali,  'We  will  always  be  your  friends  and  allies, 
but  if  you  build  a  zawia  here  the  next  thing  you  will  do 
will  be  to  come  and  conquer  us !' '  The  commandant 
was  in  a  loquacious  mood  and  reminiscences  flowed  from 
his  lips.  It  was  he  who  had  been  sent  by  Sidi  Ahmed  to 
kill  Mukhtar,  the  Senussi  officer  in  the  pay  of  Turkey, 
who  had  attacked  Bomba  in  Egyptian  territory  without 
direct  orders  from  his  master.  He  was  at  Jaghabub  when 


120   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

Sidi  Hilal  quarrelled  with  his  uncle  and,  under  sentence 
of  death,  fled  to  Tobruk  in  forty-eight  hours.  The  young 
Saved  had  described  the  horrors  of  the  250  kilometres 
ride  to  me  at  a  dinner  in  his  house  at  Jedabia  when, 
amidst  his  rich  carpets  and  brilliant  clothes,  he  could 
laugh  at  the  memory  of  aching  bones  and  failing  strength. 

Abdul  was  conversant  also  with  the  doings  of  Rama- 
dan Shetewi,  the  great  Arab  leader  who  for  many  years 
held  the  Italians  at  bay  in  Tripolitania,  but  who  was 
killed  a  few  months  ago  in  a  fight  with  the  Orfella.  It 
appears  that  his  alliance  with  Sayed  Ahmed  was  but 
lukewarm,  for  on  one  occasion,  when  he  provided  a  body- 
guard for  a  German  mission  which  was  taking  a  large 
sum  of  money  to  the  Sayed  in  Cyrenaica,  his  men  had  or- 
ders to  kill  the  unfortunate  Teutons  as  soon  as  they  were 
out  of  sight  of  Misurata.  Ramadan  Shetewi  took  the  offi- 
cial gold  and  the  mission's  private  wealth  was  divided 
among  the  murderers. 

At  noon  Yusuf  pointed  to  the  faintest  rise  in  the 
distance.  "Behind  that  hill  is  Bir  Buttafal,"  he  said, 
and  with  visions  of  another  green  spot  on  our  wonderful 
map,  we  hoped  to  see  at  dusk  one  palm  and  a  few  tufts  of 
brushwood.  Not  a  single  blade  of  grass  marks  the  slight 
hollow.  There  is  not  a  stone  nor  a  stick  nor  a  tuft  of 
green  sage  in  all  the  wide  expanse  of  thick,  soft  sand. 
The  day  we  arrived  there  was  not  even  a  hole.  Before 
we  had  time  to  ask  where  was  the  well,  Abdullah  and  two 
of  the  blacks  apparently  went  mad.  They  flung  them- 
selves on  their  knees  and  with  rhythmic  cries  began 
burrowing  rapidly,  flinging  the  sand  vigorously  over  their 
shoulders.  Only  when  they  had  sunk  to  their  waists  and 
the  heap  around  them  began  to  grow  dark  and  moist  did 
we  realise  that  they  were  actually  digging  out  the  well, 
which  had  been  entirely  filled  in  by  the  gibli  of  the 
previous  day. 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  DESERT          121 

On  Christmas  Eve  the  whole  party  devoted  themselves 
to  washing  their  clothes,  with  surreptitious  drinks  of  the 
sweet  Buttafal  spring,  the  first  good  water  we  had  tasted 
since  we  left  Jedabia.  Zeinab  and  Hauwa  laboured 
patiently  to  reduce  the  retinue's  flowing  garments  to  their 
pristine  whiteness.  I  had  to  disguise  myself  in  a  jerd 
while  my  own  red  tobh  was  in  the  tin  pan  that  served  as 
a  laundry.  The  blacks,  stripped  to  the  waist,  their  top- 
knots bobbing  above  their  shaven  heads,  pommelled  and 
pounded  beside  the  well.  By  the  afternoon  the  desert  was 
spotted  with  patches  of  white,  whose  snowiness  rapidly 
disappeared  beneath  stray  drifting  sand.  However,  there 
was  a  general  feeling  of  cleanliness  in  the  air,  and  we 
were  glad  when  Musa  She-ib  appeared  from  the  direction 
of  Jalo,  with  three  donkeys  and  a  camel  in  search  of 
the  waters  of  Buttafal  which  could  be  sold  in  Jalo, 
where  the  wells  are  brackish  and  salt,  for  half  a  mejidie 
a  girba.  We  are  glad  to  have  an  excuse  for  "fadhling," 
so  we  pressed  the  kind  old  man  to  stay  for  a  midday  meal 
and,  sitting  round  the  fire  in  the  largest  zariba,  we  made 
green  tea  while  Abdullah  cut  goat-hide  thongs  for  a  new 
pair  of  sandals,  Hassanein  mended  the  watches  of  the 
party,  all  of  which  had  stopped  in  the  sandstorm, 
and  Mohammed  made  primitive  rope  out  of  the  palm 
fibre. 

That  night  we  watched  the  camels  being  fed  by 
moonlight.  It  struck  me  at  the  time  that  it  was  a  stupid 
plan  to  put  all  the  dates  in  one  large  heap,  as  the  greediest 
camels  devoured  more  than  their  share  and  the  slowest 
eaters  got  little.  However,  I  daren't  argue  with  Abdullah 
about  what  was  obviously  his  own  job.  After  the  animals 
had  eaten  there  was  a  great  argument  as  to  whether  they 
should  be  watered  that  night  or  the  following  morning. 
Finally  it  was  decided  to  let  them  drink  at  once  and  it 
was  amusing  to  see  the  way  they  rushed  to  the  well. 


122   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

Only  two  at  a  time  could  approach  the  shallow  pan,  which 
the  Beduins  kept  filling  and  refilling,  shouting  monot- 
onously, "Come  and  drink — then  you  will  be  strong! 
Come  and  drink — then  you  will  be  strong!"  which 
changed  when  the  camels  became  violent  into  a  chanted, 
"See  how  your  drinking  splashes  me!  See  how  your 
drinking  wets  me!" 

One  realised  the  loneliness  of  the  desert  that  night. 
The  four  tents  and  the  animated  group  at  the  well  were 
infinitesimal  specks  on  the  desolate,  limitless  waste, 
silvered  by  moonlight  into  an  unbroken  sea  without  ripple 
or  bourne.  How  easily  even  a  mighty  caravan  might 
vanish  in  the  Libyan  desert  and  no  more  trace  be  left 
of  it  than  of  a  few  ants  crushed  under  foot  on  a  sandy 
court.  I  longed  for  even  one  lonely  palm  to  break  the 
awful  monotony.  It  was  the  aching  solitude  of  Nature 
pitted  against  the  pathetic  energy  of  man  and  Nature 
had  no  need  to  fight.  She  could  leave  the  struggle  and 
the  stress  to  the  human  midges  who  would  traverse  her 
trackless  silences,  and  when  their  pitiful  vitality  and  force 
were  spent  in  battling  with  her  winds  and  her  droughts 
she  could  bury  them  "noiselessly  in  her  fathomless  drifts 
beneath  the  white  serenity  of  her  moons. "  First  the 
fuel  failed.  Then  the  food  failed.  Then  the  last  water 
dried. 

"With  the  faith  of  little  children  we  laid  us  down  and  died, 
Follow  on!   Follow  on!     By  the  bones   upon  the  wayside 
Ye  shall  come  into  your  own !" 

On  Christmas  Day  the  camp  was  astir  by  3  A.M. 
Everybody  was  prepared  for  prodigies  of  endurance  in 
the  way  of  an  immensely  long  march.  Therefore,  when 
I  plunged  briskly  out  of  my  tent  while  the  moonlight  was 
still  clear,  I  could  not  understand  why  there  were  no 
chants  or  shouts,  no  cheerful  rushing  about  with  the 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  DESERT          123 

cumbersome  bales.  Arabs  and  blacks  alike  were  standing 
about  in  sorrowful  groups.  Mohammed,  with  a  plaid 
rug  wound  over  the  fleece-lined  mackintosh,  was  cleaning 
a  ruthless-looking  knife.  Even  the  camels  had  the  most 
depressed  possible  expression.  One  of  the  nagas  lay 
beside  the  fire  with  drooping  head.  It  appeared  that  she 
was  the  direct  cause  of  the  agitation,  though  most  of  the 
animals  were  suffering  severely  from  their  unaccustomed 
date  meal  followed  by  a  heavy  drink.  The  naga  appeared 
to  be  in  extremis.  Foam  frothed  from  her  mouth  and 
nostrils,  her  neck  was  twisted  into  a  stiff  distorted  curve, 
her  sides  were  labouring  painfully.  I  could  not  have 
believed  that  even  the  most  acute  indigestion  could  reduce 
an  animal  to  such  a  state  after  so  few  hours.  "She 
is  going  to  die,"  said  Yusuf.  "Prepare  the  knife!" 
"Wait!  Wait!"  exclaimed  Abdullah.  "I  will  try 
burning  her  first!"  Apparently  there  are  but  two 
remedies  in  the  desert,  bleeding  and  firing.  They  had 
already  tried  the  first  without  effect,  as  it  was  too  cold 
for  the  blood  to  run.  They  now  pushed  the  unfortunate 
animal  on  its  side  and  laid  a  hot  iron  on  its  abdomen. 
It  protested  much  less  than  it  usually  did  at  being  loaded, 
but  the  warmth  presumably  galvanised  it  into  action,  for 
it  managed  to  struggle  to  its  feet  and  wander  off  with 
the  others,  a  sorry-looking,  hunched-up  group,  one  of 
which  appeared  dead  lame. 

During  a  wasted  morning  the  friction  between  the 
two  hastily  formed  zaribas  became  intense.  The  blacks, 
incensed  at  the  abuse  which  had  been  showered  upon  them 
for  riding  the  camels  between  Aujela  and  Jalo,  now 
got  their  own  back.  They  said  that  the  Arabs  knew 
nothing  at  all  about  a  caravan  and  could  not  even  feed 
the  animals  properly.  At  noon  the  miserable  naga  got 
much  worse,  and  Mohammed,  Abdullah  and  I  spent  the 
whole  afternoon  sitting  by  her  side,  trying  desperate 


124   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

remedies  from  massage  to  soap !  When  we  left  at  5  P.M. 
she  was  obviously  dying  and  we  prepared  to  face  the 
problem  of  the  seven  days'  waterless  journey  with  one 
camel  the  fewer.  We  argued  about  what  luggage  we 
could  best  dispense  with  until  Yusuf  calmly  announced 
that,  as  we  had  waited  an  extra  day  at  Buttafal,  there 
would  not  now  be  sufficient  dates  to  last  a  week. 
Mohammed  said  that  we  must  announce  the  death  of  the 
Sayed's  camel  to  the  kaimakaan  at  Jalo,  which  meant 
an  extra  two  days'  wait. 

We  held  depressed  councils,  at  which  I  insisted  on 
an  immediate  start,  but  apparently  the  camel  shared  the 
sacredness  of  its  master,  and  even  its  body  could  not  be 
left  at  Buttafal.  "Very  well,"  said  I.  "We  will  send 
someone  back  with  the  news,  but  we  must  leave  here  at 
dawn.  We  will  give  all  our  eating  dates  for  the  camels 
and  that  will  make  up  for  to-day's  rations." 

Then  the  real  difficulty  appeared.  The  friction  be- 
tween blacks  and  Beduins  was  so  strong  that  both  parties 
feared  that  it  would  eventually  come  to  a  fight,  and 
neither  wished  to  decrease  their  number.  When  I 
suggested  a  Sudanese  going,  Abdullah  showed  his  hand. 
"Yes,  yes,  send  back  four  or  five,"  he  said  eagerly.  "The 
journey  will  be  easier  without  them,"  but  Abdul  Rahim 
refused  point-blank  to  dispense  with  one  of  his  soldiers. 
"The  night  we  thought  we  were  going  to  be  attacked,  on 
the  way  from  Jedabia,  Abdullah  left  us  and  slept  with 
some  kinsman  near  by,"  he  remarked  shrewdly.  The 
whole  party  was  sunken  in  the  deepest  gloom,  we  because 
the  camels  were  already  overloaded,  the  retinue  because 
each  side  feared  to  endanger  its  power  by  the  loss  of 
a  fighting  man,  when  a  black  form  appeared  on  the 
faint  rise  beyond  which  we  had  left  the  dying  camel. 
"Mashallah!"  exclaimed  Mohammed.  "It  is  the  in- 
fluence of  Sidi  Idris!  A  miracle!  A  miracle!"  And 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  DESERT          125 

two  minutes  later  the  source  of  all  our  woe  walked  calmly 
back  into  camp.  Its  reception  must  have  surprised  it 
considerably,  for  everyone  rushed  out  to  meet  it,  firing 
revolvers  and  rifles  into  the  still,  starlit  air,  after  which 
the  blacks  performed  a  wild  fantasia  to  the  music  of  a 
tin  pan  beaten  by  Abdullah's  sinewy  fingers.  So  ended 
the  most  unpleasant  Christmas  I  have  ever  known  1 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  FAULTY  GUIDE  ON  A  WATERLESS  WAY 

ON  December  26  we  made  our  actual  start  south. 
The  day's  delay  in  the  sandstorm  and  the  further 
delay  with  the  sick  camel  had  lost  us  four  feeds. 
We  had  allowed  half  a  sack  of  dates  night  and  morning, 
so  now  we  had  only  five  sacks  for  the  seven  days.  How- 
ever, we  bought  the  soldiers'  ration  for  sugar,  threw  in 
most  of  our  own,  and  thus  brought  it  up  to  nearly  the 
requisite  amount  of  "alaf."  As  for  girbas,  the  utmost 
the  camels  could  carry  was  eight  large  ones,  containing 
five  gallons  each,  and  eight  smaller,  containing  four 
gallons  each.  We  warned  our  party  of  sixteen  that  they 
must  use  only  an  eighth  portion  of  the  water  each  day. 
We  then  commended  ourselves  to  Allah  and  started 
south  at  8.30  A.M.,  for  the  weighing  and  exact  dis- 
tribution of  goods,  to  say  nothing  of  the  quarrels 
between  blacks  and  Arabs,  had  occupied  a  couple  of 
hours. 

There  is  no  route  to  Taiserbo,  as  no  one  ever  goes 
there.  In  the  whole  of  Jalo  we  came  across  only  two 
people  who  had  visited  the  oasis.  One  said  he  had  gone 
due  south  and  arrived  at  the  palm  trees  on  the  evening 
of  the  sixth  day.  The  second  was  our  own  sergeant, 
Mora j  a,  who  had  passed  through  Taiserbo  on  his  way 
north  nine  years  ago  and  he  had  done  the  journey  in 
six  very  long  marches.  Abdullah,  our  keen-eyed  guide, 
with  his  dark  wolf's  face  lighted  by  flashes  of  brilliant 
white  teeth,  announced  that  if  we  headed  straight  for 

126 


ON  A  WATERLESS  WAY  127 

Taiserbo  in  a  south-westerly  direction  we  might  go  too 
far  west  and  lose  ourselves  altogether.  He  therefore 
proposed  to  go  south  for  the  first  five  days,  within  sight 
of  the  faint  landmarks  on  the  Kufara  route,  and  then 
turn  west.  All  day  long  we  rode  across  a  burning, 
desolate  waste,  flatter  than  it  is  possible  to  imagine  or 
describe.  One  could  see  but  a  few  miles  on  either  side. 
The  whole  of  our  world  had  become  a  flat,  yellow  disk, 
reflecting  the  scorching  sun-rays  in  quivering  mirage. 
The  only  break  in  the  monotony  was  an  occasional  camel 
skeleton.  Once  a  great  brown  hillock  appeared  on  the 
edge  of  the  disk  and  we  thought  it  might  be  brushwood 
or  even  a  caravan,  till  the  distorting  waves  of  mirage 
danced  away  and  revealed  it  but  a  few  huddled  bones  to 
which  some  dry,  brown  matter  still  clung.  We  ate  a 
hard-boiled  egg  and  a  few  dates  for  lunch,  but  clung  to 
our  rule  of  drinking  only  morning  and  evening.  As  we 
plodded  onwards,  for  we  had  agreed  that  no  one  should 
ride  the  camels  unless  they  were  ill  or  dead  beat,  Mora j  a 
assured  me  that  our  journey  could  not  possibly  be  lucky, 
for  we  had  failed  to  fulfil  a  time-honoured  Arab  custom 
and  slaughter  a  sheep  at  Buttafal.  It  appears  that  when 
any  member  of  a  caravan  visits  an  oasis  for  the  first  time 
a  feast  is  made  in  his  honour.  As  none  of  our  retinue 
had  seen  all  the  oases  we  proposed  to  visit,  we  gathered 
it  would  be  an  expensive  journey! 

To  our  surprise  the  blacks  walked  all  day  without 
grumbling,  even  stopping  occasionally  to  dance  and  sing. 
The  camel  who  had  nearly  died  the  previous  day  carried 
her  load  gaily.  "She  was  ridden  by  Shaitan,"  said 
Mohammed  gravely,  "but  the  spirit  of  Sidi  Idris  has 
cured  her."  At  5  P.M.  Yusuf  pointed  out  the  Kalb  el 
Metemma,  which  he  said  was  on  the  left,  but  I  could  see 
absolutely  nothing  which  looked  like  a  hillock. 

We  saw  the  sun  die  in  the  flaming  splendour  which 


128   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

is  the  glory  of  the  Sahara,  we  marched  for  an  hour  or  two 
by  cool  starlight  and  then  a  great  orange  moon  swung 
up  in  the  east  and  transformed  the  desert  into  a  strange 
silver  sea.  Across  the  infinite  pale  loneliness  plodded  our 
little  caravan  and,  as  I  looked  at  the  white  speck  which 
led  us,  I  realised  why  there  could  be  no  atheist  in  the 
desert.  Man  must  put  his  trust  in  something  more 
powerful  and  far-reaching  than  himself.  In  Europe,  if 
there  be  no  God  to  help,  at  least  there  is  science  and  the 
telephone,  an  express  train  or  an  aeroplane.  In  Libya, 
where  the  Beduin  cannot  call  for  succour  by  wireless, 
where  there  are  no  signposts  to  guide,  no  surgeon  or 
mechanic  to  improve  his  means  of  locomotion,  no  food 
to  be  bought  or  picked,  no  anaesthetic  but  death,  the 
lonely  traveller  must  pin  his  faith  to  some  power  beyond 
the  calm-faced  guide  in  whose  hand  apparently  lies  the 
fate  of  his  caravan. 

When  Abdullah  met  me  on  the  hill  beside  the 
clustered  palms  of  Aujela,  I  looked  at  his  strong,  keen 
face,  lined  and  shrewd,  with  steady,  self-reliant  eyes,  and 
I  felt  that  I  could  trust  him  to  lead  us  safely  across 
the  waterless  sands  to  an  oasis  whose  size  varied  according 
to  the  imagination  of  the  speaker.  When  I  looked  across 
the  moonlit,  speckless  waste,  with  never  a  blade  or  stone 
to  break  the  even  surface  of  the  disk,  the  tiny,  plodding 
figure,  trailing  the  end  of  his  white  jerd  in  the  dust  as 
his  energy  waned  after  eleven  hours'  march  without  a 
halt,  I  felt  how  frail  a  thing  I  relied  on  for  my  life  and 
seventeen  lives  besides.  When  we  sit  in  comfortable 
arm-chairs  under  our  electric  lights  and  talk  of  the 
"Beduin  instinct,"  we  acknowledge  the  working  of  a 
greater  power  than  radium  or  steam !  Europe  may  count 
on  a  hundred  sciences,  but  for  Libya  there  can  be  but 
one  faith,  one  hope,  "Allahu  Akhbar!" 

We  pitched  camp  at  7.30  P.M.,  and  an  hour  later 


HASSAXEIX   BEY   AXD    MOJABRAS   DRIXKIXG   TEA 


FLOCKS    WATERING    AT    B1R    RASSAM 


SHE-IB'S  CARAVAN  ON  THE  MARCH  BETWEEN  WADI  FARIG 
AND  AUJEI.A 


OUR   CARAVAN    APPROACHING   AUJEI.A 


ON  A  WATERLESS  WAY  129 

our  little  cluster  of  tents  was  as  silent  as  the  calm  sands 
around  us. 

On  December  27  we  rose  at  6  A.M.  and  got  away  by 
8,  for  we  had  decided  that  the  best  way  of  doing  the 
necessary  50-odd  kilometres  a  day  was  an  unbroken  march 
of  eleven  or  twelve  hours,  with  a  solid  meal  before  start- 
ing and  another  in  the  evening.  As  the  last  groaning 
camel  rose  to  his  feet  Yusuf  pointed  out  a  group  of  low 
hillocks  to  the  east.  "Those  are  the  Hameimat  on  the 
road  to  Zieghen,"  he  said. 

Our  plump  ally  was  in  a  reflective  mood  that  day. 
In  spite  of  considerable  heat,  he  wore  the  woolly  lined 
mackintosh  closely  buttoned  and  belted,  with  a  white  cloth 
wound  over  his  cheeks.  "What  is  Allah's  greatest  gift 
to  man?"  he  propounded  to  me  suddenly.  I  felt  this 
was  a  test  of  my  faith  in  Islam,  so  I  promptly  replied, 
"The  Koran."  He  looked  at  me  scornfully.  "The 
camel!  If  there  were  no  camels  here,  there  would  be 
no  dates,  no  food,  nothing!"  He  paused  and  added 
solemnly,  "If  there  were  no  camels  here,  there  would 
be  no  men!" 

It  is  curious  how  the  desert  brings  out  character. 
Hassanein  became  so  vague  that  he  never  finished  a 
sentence  or  an  action.  I  developed  a  fatalism  wholly  at 
variance  with  my  usual  ideas.  Yusuf  showed  signs  of 
pride  and  dignity  beneath  his  plump  laziness.  Abdullah 
became  reserved  and  impressive  as  the  dunes  that  guard 
the  holy  oasis,  but  Mohammed  showed  the  finest  qualities. 
All  the  Arabs  were  courageous  with  an  enduring  quiet 
heroism  that  we  were  to  appreciate  so  a  few  days  later, 
but  Mohammed  was  infinitely  kind  and  his  pride  was 
a  fine,  clean  thing,  bred  of  silence  and  religion.  He 
made  a  vow  never  to  ride,  and  kept  it  through  infinite 
pain.  He  smiled  when  certain  death  was  but  a  few  hours 
away.  He  forgave  without  words  a  carelessness  that 


130  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

nearly  cost  him  his  life.  He  laboured  unceasingly  to 
make  everyone  else  comfortable,  and  the  only  time  I 
ever  saw  him  lose  his  calm,  aloof  patience  was  when  his 
follower,  Omar,  had  been  slighted  by  the  soldiers.  As 
for  the  "blacks,"  they  were  a  mixture  of  children  and 
animal.  When  they  suffered,  they  were  sulky.  When 
praised,  they  were  immensely  pleased.  Their  ideas 
germinated  simply  and  slowly  and  were  impossible  to 
dispute.  They  were  alternately  brave  and  cowardly,  but 
had  no  endurance  until  faced  with  hopeless  danger,  on 
which  occasion  they  showed  a  rather  splendid  and  wholly 
unexpected  patience  and  fidelity. 

We  nicknamed  the  opposing  camps  "the  black 
bears"  and  the  "shepherd  kings"  after  their  first  bad 
dispute,  which  took  place  on  the  second  day.  Little 
Abdul  Rahim  simply  had  not  the  physique  to  walk  thirty 
or  thirty-eight  miles  a  day,  so  we  were  not  surprised  when 
he  silently  climbed  on  to  a  camel,  but  when  the  fat 
Moraja  and  various  others  followed  his  example  I  made 
violent  protest.  Unfortunately,  Yusuf  joined  in,  calling 
the  soldiers  "Slaves!"  This  fired  the  fuse,  and  for  a 
few  minutes  a  fight  seemed  imminent.  The  corporal 
seized  his  rifle  and  Mohammed  pulled  out  his  big  wooden 
pistol.  By  this  time,  however,  I  was  an  adept  at  pouring 
oil  on  troubled  waters  and  after  plentifully  applying 
praise  to  both  parties,  the  atmosphere  became  calmer. 
Thereafter,  however,  there  was  open  hostility  between 
the  two  camps. 

We  camped  at  7  near  a  group  of  camel  skeletons, 
the  bones  of  which  our  own  camels  reflectively  sucked. 
It  was  the  only  moment  in  the  day  that  Zeinab  and 
Hauwa  were  in  evidence,  for  they  cooked  the  Arabs' 
evening  meal  over  a  few  twigs  of  wood  brought  from  the 
neighbourhood  of  Buttafal.  All  through  the  long  march 
two  little  shrouded  figures,  wholly  enveloped  in  coarse, 


131 

heavy  blankets,  huddled  motionless,  silent  on  the  camels. 
They  never  looked  out  of  the  folds.  They  never  spoke, 
even  to  each  other.  I  wondered  if  they  ever  thought  of 
anything  in  particular,  yet  one  of  them,  by  the  strange 
chance  of  a  night's  phantasy,  might  be  the  mother  of 
the  future  all-powerful  Sheikh  es  Senussi.  In  Islam  only 
paternity  counts.  Be  the  mother  slave  or  princess,  the 
eldest  son  inherits. 

On  December  28  we  got  away  at  7.40,  and  had  to 
march  for  eleven  and  a  half  hours  before  we  had  done 
46  kilometres.  The  first  day  the  camels  had  made  a 
good  average  of  over  4  kilometres  an  hour,  for  there 
was  no  temptation  to  wander  in  order  to  graze,  but  the 
second  day  everyone  was  tired  and  cross,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  make  the  men  drive  them  in  a  straight  line. 
The  third  day  the  blacks'  feet  began  to  blister.  My  own 
foot  was  swollen  again.  It  is  very  difficult  to  walk  for 
any  length  of  time  in  the  huge  heel-less  slippers. 
Hassanein  and  Yusuf  were  both  limping,  and  Moraja 
could  not  keep  on  his  legs,  for  all  the  veins  were  inflamed. 
I  was  so  tired  I  could  hardly  smile,  but,  luckily,  the 
unexpected  distribution  of  a  bag  of  dates  encouraged 
the  retinue  a  little.  The  mirage  distorted  two  tiny  heaps 
of  stones  into  a  couple  of  hills,  and  Yusuf  playfully  built 
the  last  camel  skeleton  into  an  original  shape  with  one 
leg  lifted  high.  It  was  not  till  I  had  laughed  at  its 
fantastic  kick  that  I  noticed  the  human  skull  that 
crowned  it! 

One  had  to  divide  one's  attention  evenly  between  the 
two  camps.  If  one  walked  for  an  hour  with  Abdullah, 
and  heard  how  our  opponent's  agent  in  Jedabia  had 
tried  to  bribe  him  not  to  accompany  the  caravan  and 
how  the  said  agent  had  subsequently  received  the  beating 
he  deserved,  one  had  to  devote  the  same  amount  of 
time  to  conversation  with  Moraja  on  the  glories  of 


132   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

the  Sudan  and  the  prowess  of  her  soldiers.  It  was  no 
easy  task  keeping  everyone  cheerful  during  an  eleven 
hours'  walk  on  no  food  or  water.  In  the  evening,  after 
we  had  eaten  our  half -ration  of  meat  and  a  handful  of 
dates — for  we  were  carrying  the  least  possible  amount 
of  food — a  pathetic  procession  used  to  rob  us  of  much- 
needed  sleep.  We  treated  blistered  and  swollen  feet, 
headache  from  the  sun,  toothache  from  dates,  sores,  fever 
and  lots  of  other  ailments  before  we  were  allowed  the 
peace  of  our  flea-bags — very  comparative  peace,  for  by 
this  time  we  were  suffering  seriously  from  sand-rash! 

December  29  saw  us  en  route  at  6.40,  and  by 
10  o'clock  Abdullah  stated  that  we  had  arrived  at  the 
Wadi  Farig.  Personally,  looking  at  it  from  every  angle, 
I  could  not  see  the  slightest  depression  of  any  kind, 
but  everyone  said  it  was  half-way,  so  spirits  rose  high. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  a  trying  day,  for  by  this  time  nearly 
everyone  was  lame.  Mohammed  could  hardly  keep  on 
his  feet,  but  he  doggedly  refused  to  ride.  The  blacks 
used  to  walk  on  half  a  mile  in  front  of  the  camels,  then 
lie  on  their  faces  while  their  companions  stamped  on 
their  backs,  an  original  form  of  massage. 

Abdullah  picked  up  a  piece  of  ostrich  eggshell  dropped 
by  a  passing  caravan  from  Wadai.  "Seventy  years  ago 
there  was  ostriches  here,"  he  informed  us  with  doubtful 
accuracy.  "What  did  they  eat?"  I  asked.  "Oh,  food, 
much  food!"  he  answered  vaguely. 

There  was  a  short  shower  in  the  evening  which  inter- 
fered with  the  cooking  but  provided  a  little  extra  water. 
We  were  very  anxious  about  our  supply,  for  the  first 
day  one  of  our  fanatis  had  leaked  and  the  blacks  had 
availed  themselves  of  the  excuse  to  empty  it  during  the 
night.  We  used  to  arrange  the  girbas  outside  our  tent 
and  dele  out  the  water  ourselves.  Several  of  the  new 
girbas  leaked  badly  and  in  spite  of  the  utmost  care  we 


ON  A  WATERLESS  WAY  133 

thought  everyone  would  be  extremely  thirsty  by  the 
seventh  day.  We  ourselves  drank  one  cup  of  hot  coffee 
in  the  morning  and  two  cups  of  cold  tea  or  water  at 
night.  We  camped  that  day  at  6.10  P.M. 

December  30  we  started  at  7  A.M.  and  camped  at 
6.35  P.M.  It  was  a  terribly  hot  day  and  the  camels  were 
nearly  as  crocked  as  the  men.  One  had  cut  a  foot,  and 
another  had  a  raw  shoulder.  Two  had  bad  sore  backs,  so 
their  loads  had  to  be  divided  among  the  others.  In  spite 
of  this  some  of  the  soldiers  had  to  be  allowed  to  ride,  for 
their  feet  were  badly  swollen.  The  country  had  changed 
slightly,  for  faint  waves  of  sand  had  marked  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  Wadi  Farig,  but  the  flatness  of  the  disk 
was  now  unimpaired,  though  its  yellow  monotony  was 
broken  by  patches  of  dark  gravel.  This  gave  the  mirage 
a  chance  to  build  ebony  hills  and  islands  amidst  its  blue, 
shifting  waves. 

December  31  we  started  at  6.30  A.M.  and  walked 
till  7  P.M.,  doing  46  kilometres,  because  the  situation 
had  suddenly  become  very  serious.  The  previous  day 
Abdullah  had  surprised  us  by  insisting  on  a  slightly 
south-easterly  course,  as  he  had  not  yet  seen  a  small 
landmark  on  the  Zieghen  route.  When  we  had  talked 
the  matter  over  in  Jalo  he  had  assured  us  calmly  and 
strongly  that  he  had  been  to  Taiserbo  and  knew  the 
route.  We  had  cross-questioned  him  severely,  and 
always  he  had  been  confident  of  being  able  to  guide  us 
to  any  of  the  southern  oases,  though  he  had  urged  us 
not  to  go  to  Buseima  on  account  of  the  danger  of  being 
attacked. 

Now  according  to  our  map  it  was  350  kilometres  from 
Buttafal  to  Taiserbo.  It  was  generally  stated  by  the 
Arabs  to  be  a  seven  days'  journey,  which  was  a  daily 
march  of  eleven  to  twelve  hours  at  an  average  of  four 
and  a  fraction  kilometres  an  hour.  Therefore,  in  spite 


134   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

of  Abdullah's  change  of  direction,  according  to  the 
mileage  we  had  done,  we  should  have  been  well  within 
the  oases  that  night.  We  had  confidently  expected  it 
the  previous  evening,  when  we  noticed  a  certain  vague- 
ness about  our  guide.  "Don't  talk  to  him,  or  he  will 
lose  his  head,"  said  Mohammed  on  the  sixth  day.  It 
is  looked  upon  as  a  definite  disease,  like  fever,  this 
losing  the  head  on  the  part  of  the  guides.  It  was 
extraordinary  to  see  the  change  in  the  Beduin's  face  that 
day.  The  whole  outline  of  his  features  seemed  to  have 
become  blurred,  while  his  eyes  were  restless  and  troubled. 
He  stooped  as  he  walked  and  kept  asking  if  we  thought 
he  was  going  straight,  so  that  by  the  end  of  that  day 
we  had  to  direct  him  by  the  map,  which  we  had  everj* 
reason  to  believe  inaccurate.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  while  we  always  knew  roughly  where  we  were,  wt 
never  knew  where  Taiserbo  was.  We  started  half -rations 
for  the  camels  on  the  31st  and  tried  to  cut  down  the 
water  ration  still  more,  though  since  the  girbas  had 
begun  to  leak  we  had  dispensed  with  the  half -cupful  for 
washing. 

New  Year's  Day  dawned  gloomily.  We  had  two 
half-feeds  for  the  camels  and  barely  enough  water  for 
two  days  at  less  than  a  pint  per  day  per  person.  We 
were,  however,  a  little  cheered  up  when,  as  we  were 
loading  the  camels,  Abdullah  .pointed  out  a  faint  blur  to 
the  east  and  said  it  was  Mazeel,  some  hillocks  he  had 
hoped  to  see  the  previous  day.  On  clear  mornings,  about 
an  hour  after  dawn,  when  the  desert  is  very  flat,  a  mirage 
of  the  country  about  a  day's  journey  distant  appears  on 
the  horizon.  For  a  few  minutes  one  sees  a  picture  of  what 
is  some  50  kilometres  farther  on.  The  Arabs  call  it  "the 
country  turning  upside  down."  On  January  1,  the 
seventh  day  of  our  march,  we  saw  this  mirage  for  the 
first  time — brushwood  and  hillocks  quite  clearly  to  the 


ON  A  WATERLESS  WAY  135 

south,  yet  our  guide  turned  deliberately  west  of  it. 
My  camel  was  ill  after  his  unaccustomed  date-feeding. 
Hassanein  was  in  great  pain  from  his  blistered  feet.  A 
permanent  north  wind,  warring  for  a  week  with  a  burn- 
ing sun,  had  implanted  rheumatism  in  my  right  shoulder. 
The  firewood  had  given  out,  and  there  had  been  a  sharp 
quarrel  between  the  blacks  and  the  Beduins  on  this 
account,  each  accusing  the  other  of  using  more  than  their 
share. 

Abdullah  kept  on  his  south-westerly  course  for  a  few 
hours,  and  then  began  to  wander  slightly.  The  blacks 
wanted  to  beat  him.  Even  Mohammed  was  impatient 
with  him.  We  steered  almost  due  south.  Hassanein 
had  to  ride  all  day  and  Mohammed's  eyes  were  bloodshot 
with  the  pain  of  his  feet,  yet  he  struggled  on.  That  night 
there  were  no  fires  in  the  camp,  and  I  fully  expected 
Abdullah  would  be  murdered.  However,  when  I  woke 
before  the  dawn  on  January  2,  I  heard  him  laughing, 
so  hoped  he  had  recovered  his  head.  We  dared  not  start 
till  "the  country  had  turned  upside  down"  and  revealed 
to  us  what  lay  in  front,  so  we  occupied  ourselves  in  find- 
ing our  exact  position.  According  to  our  map  we  were 
now  within  the  borders  of  Taiserbo!  This  raised  the 
problem  of  whether  it  were  one  consecutive  oasis  or 
whether  it  were  possible  to  go  between  two  groups  of 
palms  without  seeing  either! 

At  8  A.M.  the  mirage  showed  us  one  sharp  dune  very 
much  to  the  west.  I  wanted  to  go  straight  there,  hoping 
by  sunset  to  be  able  to  climb  it  and  have  a  good  view  of 
what  lay  beyond,  but  both  Abdullah  and  Moraja  insisted 
that  no  such  dune  lay  anywhere  near  Taiserbo.  "If  we 
go  as  much  west  as  that  we  go  straight  to  Hell,"  said 
the  guide  decisively.  With  the  ever-present  danger  of 
going  beyond  Taiserbo  into  the  uninhabited  western 
desert  it  was  impossible  to  argue.  With  only  one  day's 


136   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

water  and  no  fodder  we  dared  not  risk  everything  so 
boldly,  but  I  there  and  then  made  up  my  mind  that 
Taiserbo  was  smaller  and  much  farther  west  than  is 
generally  supposed.  I  believe  if  we  had  gone  to  that 
dune  we  might  have  reached  it.  At  that  moment  a  thick, 
icy  mist  came  down  and  blotted  out  everything,  so  I 
decided  to  go  south  for  five  hours,  in  which  case,  according 
to  Jalo  information  and  our  map,  we  should  have  gone 
right  through  Taiserbo  and  possibly  be  able  to  recognise 
some  landmarks  near  Buseima. 

It  was  a  terrible  walk.  Everyone  knew  that,  humanly 
speaking,  they  were  going  to  die  of  thirst  within  a  day 
or  two.  Nearly  everyone  had  blistered  feet,  and  no  one 
had  had  enough  to  eat,  yet  everyone  laughed.  "It  is 
evidently  the  will  of  Allah  that  we  die,"  said  Farraj 
politely,  "but  no  one  will  die  before  Sidi  Abdullah."  I 
doubt  if  the  guide  heard.  He  trailed  along  with  a  blank, 
dispirited  stare,  first  edging  west,  then  east.  Mohammed 
was  tottering  on  swollen  feet.  "I  think  that  I  would 
rather  die  beside  my  luggage,"  he  said  placidly.  "Doubt- 
less Abdullah  and  Yusuf  would  like  to  wander  about  to 
the  end,  but  I  do  not  know  this  country,  Hamdulillah  it 
will  be  quick!"  Thereafter  everyone  spoke  of  death, 
and  I  was  amazed  at  the  way  they  calmly  accepted  its 
advent.  The  only  thing  that  stimulated  them  was  the 
demise  of  the  guide.  "By  Allah,  Sidi  Abdullah  shall  go 
first  and  show  us  the  way!"  said  the  toothless  one. 
"When  I  am  certain  of  death  I  shall  shoot  him,"  said 
Sharki  firmly.  "But  he  called  you  a  fool  yesterday," 
reminded  Farraj.  This  worried  Shakri  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  cheered  up.  "I  will  call  him  a  fool  first,  and 
then  I  will  shoot  him,"  he  said.  Amidst  this  cheerful 
conversation  the  mist  suddenly  lifted  and  revealed  nothing 
but  the  same  flat,  pale  sand  devoid  of  faintest  shadow  of 
grass  or  brushwood  to  give  hope  of  an  oasis. 


ON  A  WATERLESS  WAY  137 

It  is  amazing  how  desperation  affects  one.  That 
morning  Hassanein  could  not  put  his  foot  on  the  ground, 
but  when  he  realised  that  his  end  was  imminent  he 
walked  for  eight  hours  without  feeling  pain.  Mohammed 
also  forgot  his  ills  and  I  found  myself  wondering  how 
soon  I  should  awake  from  this  realistic  nightmare.  When 
our  southern  course  produced  nothing  but  fanciful  blue 
lakes  and  pools — for  a  burning  sun  now  added  to  our  woes 
— we  took  council  and,  ignoring  Abdullah,  decided  to 
march  east-south-east  till  water  and  camels  gave  out. 
There  were  several  chances  of  salvation  on  this  new  bear- 
ing, we  thought,  for  we  might  hit  the  most  easterly  end 
of  Taiserbo  if  it  were  anywhere  near  its  mapped  position, 
or  we  might  find  ourselves  in  the  recognisable  country 
south  of  Zieghen  or  among  the  dunes  near  Buseima.  We 
supposed  these  places  to  be  too  far  away  to  reach  with 
the  camels,  but  if  we  could  get  anywhere  near  we  could 
send  a  messenger  for  help  and  lie  down  to  await  his 
return.  We  knew  there  was  a  little  water  in  the  tins  of 
vegetables,  and  hoped  that  if  we  kept  very  still  this  would 
keep  us  all  alive  for  an  extra  day. 

It  was  a  terrible  afternoon  of  mirage.  I  do  not  know 
whether  weariness  had  affected  our  eyes,  but  on  every 
side  we  saw  hills,  dunes,  brushwood,  and  always  they 
were  the  same  dark  patches  of  gravel.  "It  is  a  simple 
route  to  Taiserbo,"  had  said  the  kaimakaan  at  Jalo, 
"but  one  mistake  means  destruction!"  Had  we  really 
made  the  one  mistake  ?  Curiously  enough,  I  felt  no  anger 
against  Abdullah,  even  when  he  suddenly  acknowledged 
he  had  not  been  to  Taiserbo  for  twenty  years.  In  fact, 
an  odd  fatalism  had  absorbed  us  all.  The  Beduins  began 
discussing  other  disasters  on  these  terrible  southern 
routes. 

One  man  had  died  within  fifteen  yards  of  the  water  he 
had  failed  to  find  in  time.  Another,  whose  water  had  gone 


138   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

bad  on  the  Kufara  route,  had  been  found  dead  beside  his 
camels,  one  of  which  he  had  killed  for  its  blood.  The 
blacks  took  an  impersonal  interest  in  these  gruesome  tales 
while  they  walked  on  with  stolid  calm.  I  gave  them  our 
last  bag  of  dates,  but  warned  them  it  would  probably 
make  them  very  thirsty.  They  replied  with  extreme 
cheerfulness  that  they  did  not  want  to  drink  in  the  least. 
They  were  really  splendid  that  afternoon.  They  sang 
and  laughed  and  cheered  each  other  on.  Little  Abdul 
Rahim  stalked  on  ahead  with  a  grim  smile,  his  rifle  over 
his  shoulder,  his  weakness  forgotten.  The  only  really 
dispirited  member  of  the  party  was  Abdullah,  who  trailed 
along  at  the  heels  of  the  caravan  with  downcast  head. 
Once,  when  a  low  rise  appeared  to  the  south,  he  walked 
briskly  towards  it  in  hopes  of  a  further  view,  bat  returned 
an  hour  later  more  gloomy  than  ever.  The  hot  midday 
hours  dragged  along  intolerably  slowly.  I  did  not  feel 
very  thirsty  myself,  but  we  had  all  drunk  so  little  lately 
that  our  skins  had  become  extraordinarily  dry  and  parched. 
Our  lips  and  gums  were  cracked  and  sore.  The  camels 
had  had  only  a  half -ration  of  dates  the  previous  day  and 
nothing  that  morning,  so  they  were  ravenous.  They 
tried  to  eat  the  stuffing  of  the  baggage  saddles,  and  ran 
to  every  dark  patch  of  stones  in  search  of  grass. 

At  3  P.M.  some  faint  dunes  appeared  on  the  south- 
east horizon.  We  expected  Abdullah  to  recognise  them, 
but  his  demoralisation  must  have  been  complete,  for  he 
showed  no  interest  in  them.  Yusuf  and  Mora j  a  began 
speculating  as  to  whether  they  could  be  the  "hatia" 
which  ran  between  Zieghen  and  Taiserbo.  If  so,  there 
might  be  vegetation  on  the  farther  side  and  the  mystery 
of  our  position  be  solved.  Nearly  everyone  ran  on  ahead, 
and  only  Abdul  Hafiz  and  Omar  were  left  to  drive  the 
camels,  who  were  stumbling  badly.  It  was  their  ninth 
day  without  water,  but  this  mattered  less  than  the 


ON  A  WATERLESS  WAY  139 

scarcity  of  food.  For  an  exhausting  hour  everyone 
struggled  along  at  their  best  pace,  limping,  wavering, 
with  parched  mouths  and  bloodshot  eyes,  before  which 
danced  the  tantalising  sheets  of  water  and  cool,  dark 
mirage  hills.  Suddenly  Yusuf,  who  was  on  ahead,  flung 
himself  on  his  face  and  embraced  the  earth,  afterwards 
executing  a  wild,  bareheaded  dance,  during  which  he 
waved  his  long  kufiya  on  the  end  of  his  stick.  We 
rushed  to  join  him  and  found  him  lovingly  stroking  a 
little  mound  covered  with  dry,  brittle  sticks.  "It  is 
brushwood-hattab,"  he  said  simply.  "Inshallah!  There 
is  more  beyond."  Two  other  mounds  appeared  shortly 
with  a  little  coarse,  green  shrub,  over  which  the  camels 
fought  and  struggled  till  the  last  scrap  had  disappeared. 
By  this  time  sunset  was  near  and  we  had  to  force  our 
unsteady,  aching  limbs  into  a  run  to  reach  those  elusive 
dunes  in  time  to  catch  the  clear,  far  view  devoid  of 
mirage  that  always  comes  at  sunset.  It  was  a  pathetic 
race  of  the  halt  and  the  lame  in  which  Hassanein  and  I 
were  out-distanced.  We  saw  the  others  clamber  up  the 
dune — we  saw  them  stand  gazing  eastwards — and  then 
we  saw  them  sink  motionless  in  silent  groups.  I  think 
at  that  moment  I  felt  our  death  warrant  was  sealed.  I 
turned  hopelessely  to  my  plucky  companion.  "It  is  no 
good.  They  would  have  danced  if  it  had  been  the 
'hatia.' '  "Yes,  they  would  have  made  a  noise,"  he 
said  dully. 

We  crawled  up  to  the  top  of  the  ridge,  a  series  of 
wavy,  curling  dunes  running  north-west  to  south-east, 
expecting  to  see  the  same  level,  monotonous  country  that 
lay  behind  us.  Instead,  we  were  amazed  to  look  down 
over  a  few  lower  dunes  to  an  entirely  changed  tract.  On 
every  side  were  uneven  mounds  and  hillocks  covered  with 
decayed  scrub,  leafless  and  brown,  but  a  few  hundred 
yards  in  front  was  a  cluster  of  huge  green  bushes. 


140  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

We  could  not  understand  the  apathy  of  the  soldiers, 
who  were  dejectedly  rolling  pebbles  down  the  slope. 
"Surely  there  is  water  there,"  I  exclaimed  impatiently. 
"Wallahi!  But  that  Abdullah  does  not  know!"  said 
Farraj.  "He  says  only  that  it  is  not  the  Zeighen 
country."  As  I  ran  down  the  dune  the  camels  literally 
rushed  past  me  to  the  patch  of  green.  But  they  did  not 
eat.  Apparently  the  great  feathery  bushes  were  not 
fodder,  and  the  only  other  things  among  the  mounds 
were  a  couple  of  skeletons  to  which  the  hooves  and  chest 
pads  still  clung.  "This  place  is  El  Atash — the  thirst,'* 
said  Abdullah  suddenly.  "There  is  an  old  well  here,  but 
its  water  will  kill  you!  It  is  salt  and  bad." 

At  the  time  we  were  obliged  to  rely  on  his  statement, 
but  since  then  I  have  discovered  that  he  was  entirely 
mistaken.  The  water  at  El  Atash  is  brackish,  but  quite 
wholesome  and  the  well  can  be  dug  out  at  any  time. 
It  is  only  filled  up  with  sand  because  travellers  never 
come  there  unless  they  have  lost  their  way  and  are  driven 
to  the  disused  well  by  thirst — El  Atash!  There  was 
plenty  of  brushwood,  so  we  built  enormous  fires  to  cheer 
ourselves  up,  but  we  could  cook  nothing  without  water. 
The  blacks  ate  macaroni  dry  and  the  Arabs  tried  flour, 
though  we  offered  them  our  tinned  meats.  The  soldiers 
had  a  cupful  of  water  each,  but  the  Beduins  had  none, 
so  we  had  to  share  our  last  hoarded  bottle  with  them. 
We  dared  not  eat  our  meat  ration  because  of  the  salt,  so 
we  sucked  malted  milk  tablets  and  eagerly  drank  the 
water  from  some  tinned  carrots  which  were  cool  and 
damp.  Then  we  tore  up  the  baggage  saddles  to  give  the 
straw  stuffing  to  the  camels,  for  we  thought  we  could 
manage  one  more  day's  march  by  riding. 

The  morning  of  January  3  was  misty.  Ripples  of 
white  fog  blurred  the  landscape,  while  we  silently  loaded 
the  camels,  using  blankets,,  tents,  anything  soft  as  pads 


ON  A  WATERLESS  WAY  141 

to  support  the  panniered  luggage.  We  ate  a  tin  of 
spinach  because  it  was  wet,  but  it  was  a  hollow-eyed 
procession  that  started  due  east  along  the  "hatia"  in 
the  hope  of  hitting  one  of  the  wells  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Zieghen.  Abdullah  had  held  out  many  hopes  the 
night  before,  but  now  all  he  would  say  was  "Inshallah!" 
We  left  El  Atash  at  7.30  and  toiled  laboriously  round 
the  small  mounds  which  looked  so  oddly  like  graves. 
Three  green  ones  gave  the  camels  a  little  respite,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  the  "gherds"  (dunes)  that  generally 
mark  the  presence  of  water.  The  whole  retinue  spread 
out  in  a  straggling  line  across  the  horizon,  marching  east, 
and  every  faint  rise  was  passionately  scanned  and  dis- 
cussed. At  last  Mohammed  said,  "If  you  cut  my  throat 
now  you  will  not  find  one  drop  of  blood,"  referring  to 
the  Arab  idea  that  when  a  man  is  in  fear  of  death  all 
the  blood  in  his  body  rushes  to  his  head.  "It  is  time 
that  Sidi  Abdullah  dies,"  said  Farraj  firmly,  his  finger  on 
the  trigger,  and  then,  of  course,  the  unexpected,  the  im- 
possible, happened,  and  a  faint  dark  blur  appeared  on 
the  horizon. 

I  have  no  recollection  at  all  of  the  next  two  hours. 
Whether  I  walked  or  rode  or  ran  I  do  not  know.  What 
happened  to  the  others  I  have  no  idea.  My  whole  being 
was  concentrated  on  those  green  mounds,  which  con- 
tinually vanished  and  reappeared  until  at  last  they  con- 
solidated at  2.30  P.M.  into  a  few  clustered  palms  and  some 
"gherds"  covered  with  stubble.  I  remember  tottering 
down  a  hollow  and  seeing  some  nude  black  figures  madly 
scooping  up  sand,  and  then  a  silent  little  group  crouched 
pitifully  on  the  edge  of  the  freshly  dug  pit  that  meant 
life  or  death.  The  water  came  very  slowly,  for  they  had 
chosen  a  bad  place  in  their  hurry,  but  it  came.  Oozing 
through  damp  sand,  the  first  muddy  pool  brought  all  the 
primitive  emotions  to  our  hearts — joy,  relief,  gratitude, 


142   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

too  deep  for  words!  An  hour  or  two  later  life  had 
become  normal  again  and  the  deepening  water  brought 
us  only  the  idea  of  a  hearty  meal  and  a  bath  in  the  biggest 
receptacle  in  the  canteen. 

I  wonder  how  many  readers  will  understand  the  tale 
of  those  three  days,  because  being  lost  in  Europe  means 
merely  an  appeal  to  a  map  or  a  passer-by,  but  in  Libya 
there  is  often  no  well  for  several  hundred  miles,  and, 
perchance,  two  caravans  a  year  or  none  at  all!  A  few, 
just  a  very  few,  will  comprehend:  quiet  men  with 
tired,  keen  eyes — an  Italian  after  whom  a  Tripolitanian 
"gebel"  is  named,  half  a  dozen  Frenchmen  scattered 
over  the  great  white  desert  south  of  Insalah,  any 
Australian  who  has  been  bushed  without  water  and  cer- 
tainly one  or  two  Englishmen  in  strange,  sunburned 
corners  of  our  ruthless  Empire! 

We  camped  near  the  largest  clump  of  palms  within 
sight  of  the  blessed  well,  and  all  afternoon  I  lay  on  my 
camp  bed  with  my  "zemzimaya"  beside  me,  drinking 
every  few  minutes  and  when  I  could  not  drink  any  more 
I  would  shake  it  now  and  then  to  hear  the  delicious 
clutter  of  the  water  inside.  In  spite  of  all  this  joy  we 
were  not  really  out  of  the  wood  yet,  for  the  "hatia" 
contained  practically  no  forage.  The  camels  were  all 
feeble  after  their  long  journey  and  the  fast  at  the  end 
of  it.  They  had  to  be  driven  here  and  there,  from  small 
bush  to  smaller  tuft.  It  was  a  laborious  business  for 
our  tired  men  and  I  had  to  leave  my  water-bottle  once 
or  twice  to  see  how  matters  were  progressing.  Abdullah 
and  Abdul  Hafiz  were  very  anxious  that  night,  for  the 
camels  would  not  drink  properly,  so  we  tore  up  some 
straw  mats,  soaked  them,  and  gave  them  to  the  beasts. 
I  wanted  to  try  them  with  rice,  but  Abdul  Hafiz  said  they 
would  die  if  they  ate  it. 

Our  guide  had  recovered  some  of  his  calm  when  he 


ON  A  WATERLESS  WAY  143 

realised  that  we  were  camping  at  El  Atash  in  the  Zieghen 
district,  at  least  a  day  and  a  half  to  two  days'  journey 
east  of  the  elusive  Taiserbo.  I  was  delighted  when  I 
understood  this,  for  fate  was  obviously  giving  me  a 
chance  of  accomplishing  my  old  desire  for  travelling  to 
Buseima  by  the  uncharted  route  which  had  tempted  me 
at  Jalo. 

I  explained  this  to  the  retinue,  and  was  met  with 
blank  dismay.  They  wanted  to  go  to  Zieghen  and  then 
safely  by  the  caravan  route  to  Kuf ara.  They  assured  me 
that  Buseima  was  most  dangerous,  that  a  particularly 
savage  portion  of  the  Zouia  tribe  dwelt  there  and  attacked 
every  strange  caravan  at  sight.  I  gathered  that  while 
Kufara  is  a  large  and  imposing  group  of  oases  round  the 
belad  of  the  holy  qubba,  a  big  desert  market  and  the 
centre  of  the  whole  Sahara  trade,  besides  being  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Senussi  Government  and  the  sacred 
headquarters  of  its  religion,  Buseima,  although  very 
sparsely  inhabited,  is  also  to  a  minor  extent  a  "business 
centre,"  for  caravans  from  Wadai  and  Jalo  visit  it. 
There  is  no  zawia  there  and  no  Government  official. 
The  Zouias  fiercely  assert  their  independence  and  refuse 
to  admit  the  complete  authority  of  the  Sayeds  in  order 
to  avoid  paying  taxes  in  money,  although  they  pay  great 
respect  to  the  Senussi  family  and  to  their  wishes.  They 
have  never  seen  a  soldier  within  their  boundaries,  and 
on  no  account  allow  a  stranger  of  any  race  or  sect  to 
enter  their  country. 

"If  they  do  not  kill  us  in  the  oasis,"  said  Yusuf  dole- 
fully, "they  will  lie  in  wait  for  us  outside  among  the 
dunes  and  murder  us  on  our  way  to  Kufara."  I  said  that 
I  thought  we  could  massacre  a  few  Zouias  first,  but  even 
Mohammed  was  frightened.  "It  is  a  bad  country,"  he 
remarked.  "Why  did  not  Allah  allow  us  to  reach 
Taiserbo  in  safety?  There  is  a  zawia  there  and  I  have 


144   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

heard  of  the  sheikh,  Sidi  Mohammed.  His  brother  was 
with  me  at  the  Jaghabub  zawia." 

I  asked  about  the  tribes  in  Taiserbo  and  was  told  that 
it  was  the  second  largest  oasis,  but  unimportant  and 
sparsely  inhabited,  that  many  of  the  date-trees  belonged 
to  the  people  in  Buseima,  that  there  were  a  few  Tebus 
and  some  Zouias,  of  whom  the  larger  part  were  Senussi. 
"There  are  different  parties  there,"  said  Mora j  a,  "but 
they  are  all  good  people — nahs  taibeen.  Beyond  Taiserbo 
is  a  country  of  fighting.  No  stranger  may  go  there. 
There  is  much  danger.  If  we  escape  the  Buseima  people 
we  shall  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Tebus  of  Ribiana  or 
of  wandering  Tuareg  bands." 

In  spite  of  these  gloomy  prognostications  I  pointed 
out  that  the  camels  certainly  could  not  go  five  days  to 
Kufara  without  food  and  that  I  had  no  intention  whatso- 
ever of  trusting  Abdullah's  ideas  as  to  the  location  of 
Taiserbo.  Instead,  I  made  the  guide  and  Moraja  each 
draw  his  idea  of  the  famous  gebel  at  Buseima.  They 
both  outlined  in  the  sand  a  long,  low,  square-topped  ridge. 
"Very  well,"  said  I  firmly.  "At  sunset  we  will  climb 
to  the  top  of  the  largest  gherd  here  and  see  if  we  cannot 
locate  that  mountain!"  Having  once  and  for  all  put  our 
decorative  but  useless  map  out  of  our  heads,  we  were 
able  to  reason  out  that  Taiserbo  lay  to  the  west,  ran 
north-east  and  south-west  and  could  not  be  more  than 
25  to  40  kilometres  in  length,  while  I  pinned  my  faith 
to  due  south  for  Buseima. 

The  desert  had  nearly  killed  us  in  her  most  ruthless 
mood,  but  when  we  mounted  the  sandy  gherd  and  saw 
the  red  splendour  fade  into  cold  mauve  and  grey  of  the 
sand,  while  the  evening  star  blazed  as  if  it  were  a  drop  of 
liquid  flame  in  a  sapphire  cup,  we  forgave  her,  especially 
as  due  south,  just  exactly  where  "instinct"  had  sug- 
gested to  us,  a  faint  black  ridge  rose,  low  and  square, 


THE   MOSQUE   AT   AUJELA,    WHLRE    IS   BURIED  THE   CLERK 
OF   THE    PROPHET    MOHAMMED 


DESERT   WELL   AT   JAT.O 


THE    AUTHOR    WITH   THE  TWO  SLAVES ZEINAB   AND    HAUWA 


OUR    CAMP    AT    BUTTAFAL 


ON  A  WATERLESS  WAY  145 

over  the  horizon.  I  took  some  bearings  for  fear  of  mirage 
and  ordered  an  early  start  next  morning  in  spite  of  wild 
protestations  and  appeals. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  everyone  was  so  tired  that  we  did 
not  get  off  till  7.30.  The  camels  groaned  plaintively 
and  continuously,  refusing  to  rise  from  their  knees.  I 
had  insisted  on  filling  girbas  enough  for  a  four  days' 
march,  though  Abdullah  said  it  was  only  two,  and  with 
no  saddles  it  was  difficult  to  balance  the  packs  on  rolled 
blankets  and  canvas.  All  that  day  was  a  weary  succession 
of  changing  loads.  When  one  camel  sank  wearily  down 
and  refused  to  move,  we  dragged  off  his  load  and  placed 
it  on  another.  No  one  rode,  however  blistered  were  his 
feet.  Some  of  the  blacks  had  raw  toe  joints,  but  we  dared 
not  risk  the  camels  further.  After  about  three  hours  we 
left  the  little  mounds  and  sparse  sticks  of  the  "hatia" 
and  the  unbroken  sands  lay  in  great  flat  waves  before  us. 
We  stopped  at  the  last  moment  to  pick  the  brittle  wood 
for  our  evenings  fires,  and  then  marched  on  steadily  till 
6  P.M. 

The  "gara"  of  Buseima  appeared  suddenly  at  12.30. 
It  looked  like  a  solid,  black  ridge  on  the  horizon,  but  we 
knew  it  was  more  than  a  day's  journey  away.  The 
camels  wandered  and  lagged  and  stumbled.  I  doubt  if 
we  did  more  than  2  miles  an  hour.  In  the  afternoon 
the  sand  waves  developed  into  hard  dunes,  low  and 
round-backed.  We  could  no  longer  make  straight  for 
the  black  mark  in  the  distance,  but  had  to  swerve  east- 
ward to  avoid  the  higher  dunes.  About  four  I  thought 
the  camels  could  not  go  another  step.  Several  of  them 
lay  down  at  the  same  time,  but  somehow  we  got  them 
to  their  feet  again,  chiefly  by  dint  of  song!  The 
reiterated  refrains  of  the  Sudanese  had  a  great  effect  on 
the  weary  beasts,  but  never  had  the  barraking  cry 
"Adaryayan!"  "We  have  arrived  at  the  house,  oh  sick 


146   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

ones!"  sounded  more  welcome.  It  was  the  cool,  pale 
hour  that  precedes  night  when  we  encamped  in  a  great 
hollow  among  white  dunes.  The  stars  were  triumphing 
over  the  last  glowing  rays  of  the  sunset  and  the  mys- 
terious mountain  that  had  fired  my  imagination  for 
so  long  lay,  violet-hued  and  sombre,  to  the  south. 

Next  morning,  January  5,  we  again  started  at  7.30 
and  plunged  immediately  into  a  maze  of  dunes,  great, 
curved,  hard-backed  ones,  with  a  few  soft  patches  in  the 
hollows  into  which  the  camels  sank,  protesting.  They 
walked  rather  better  than  the  previous  day  in  spite  of 
a  continual  series  of  ascents  and  descents.  Perhaps  it 
was  the  sight  of  the  strange,  sinister  ridge  in  front,  coal- 
black  against  the  surrounding  white  sand.  Perhaps  it 
was  the  very  cold  south  wind  which  blistered  our  faces 
as  we  moved  into  it.  At  any  rate,  at  12.30  we  arrived 
at  the  mysterious  gebel  which  had  first  appeared  as  a 
solid,  even  ridge  with  a  flat  top,  had  then  added  to  itself 
a  sort  of  squarish,  sugar-loaf  hill  at  each  end  and  now 
turned  out  not  to  be  a  ridge  at  all  but  a  chain  of  cliffs, 
some  square,  some  roundish,  but  all  of  sombre  dull  black 
stone  with  faint  reddish  patches.  To  my  eyes,  uninitiated 
into  the  by-ways  of  geology,  it  looked  like  a  vast  volcanic 
eruption,  for  passing  east  of  the  main  body  of  the  hills, 
we  entered  a  veritable  inferno  of  desolation.  Right  in 
the  middle  of  the  white,  curly  sand  dunes  lay  a  tract  of 
about  8  kilometres  of  scattered  black  stones.  Their 
brittle  sheets  of  ebony  matter  stood  up  in  lines — it  looked 
as  if  all  the  old  slates  in  the  world  had  been  flung  in  care- 
less piles  in  this  dreary  region.  Experts  later  informed 
me  that  the  black  stone  was  Nubian  sandstone  im- 
pregnated with  iron  and  manganese,  nothing  volcanic  at 
all.  The  other  stones  were  sandstones  of  lighter  colour, 
fossilised  wood,  and  flints. 

For  two  hours  we  stumbled  and  clattered  over  this 


ON  A  WATERLESS  WAY  147 

blistered,  black  waste,  picking  up  specimens  of  as  many 
kinds  of  stone  as  possible  and  then,  as  we  clambered  up 
a  rough  bank  between  two  of  the  sombre  sheer-cut  hills, 
the  long  line  of  Buseima  palms  spread  before  us  with 
the  thin  silver  strip  of  lake — real  water,  no  mirage — that 
had  seemed  to  be  but  a  fable  of  Jedabia  imagination! 
Till  we  reached  the  stony  track  by  the  gara  we  had 
marched  in  very  businesslike  formation — three  soldiers 
ahead,  the  camels  in  the  middle,  and  scouts  flung  out  on 
the  highest  dunes,  while  everyone  had  rifle  or  revolver 
ready.  Abdullah,  himself  a  Zouia,  had  mocked  the 
blacks  with  "Look  out,  you  soldiers,  for  now  you  are 
coming  to  the  land  where  men  fight!"  and  therefore 
every  slave  was  athirst  for  battle  and  revenge! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  LAKE  IN  THE  DESERT 

WHEN  we  drew  level  with  the  hills  Abdullah 
decided  to  go  on  ahead  and  explain  our  harmless 
design  and  see  if  it  would  be  possible  for  us  to 
camp  in  the  oasis.  I  was  amused  to  see  that  even  he 
would  not  go  into  the  belad  without  his  rifle,  while 
the  rest  of  the  retinue  implored  me  to  take  only  food 
for  the  camels  and  then  go  on  to  Kufara,  but  I  was  not 
going  to  be  cheated  of  my  lake  and  my  mountain,  the 
first  I  had  seen  in  Libya!  I  drove  them  protesting  down 
the  stony  slope  to  where  the  desolation  ended  in  a  little 
sandy  wadi  full  of  huge  palm  clusters  and  coarse  brown 
vegetation,  half  grass,  half  moss.  White  Abdullah  tested 
the  feelings  of  the  two  villages,  one  at  either  end  of  the 
long  strip  of  palms  that  border  the  lake,  we  set  up  our 
tents  in  the  usual  camping-ground  and  I  turned  the 
opening  of  mine  to  face  the  mountain,  now  purple  and 
ruddy  in  the  afternoon  sun. 

The  soldiers,  still  overwhelmed  with  visions  of  a  night 
attack,  urged  us  to  avoid  the  green  clumps,  to  whose 
welcome  shade  we  clung,  and  pitch  our  tent  in  the  open 
on  the  edge  of  the  stony  waste,  but  we  refused,  and  soon 
Abdullah  returned  with  news  that  the  brother  of  the 
sheikh  el  zawia  at  Taiserbo  lived  in  Buseima  and  was 
coming  to  see  us.  Our  guide  brought  with  him  a  pale- 
faced  sister  with  great  velvet  eyes,  and  heavy  silver 
necklace  mixed  with  many  leathern  amulets.  She  gave 
us  a  kid-skin  full  of  very  good  large  dates,  for  her 

148 


THE  LAKE  IN  THE  DESERT  149 

husband  owned  palms  and  gardens  in  Buseima,  and  the 
retinue  began  to  cheer  up. 

We  were  just  preparing  coffee  and  rejoicing  in  our 
first  really  clean  date — for  up  to  then  all  we  had  eaten 
had  been  plentifully  flavoured  with  sand — when  Sidi 
Mohammed  el  Madeni,  the  brother  of  the  Taiserbo 
sheikh,  with  Sidi  Omar  and  Sidi  Bu  Regea,  arrived, 
prepared  to  welcome  us  most  hospitably  in  the  name  of 
the  Sayed.  It  appeared  that  the  brother  of  the  former 
wns  in  Kufara  at  the  moment,  so  we  should  have  missed 
him  had  we  arrived  in  Taiserbo.  Abdullah  made  tea 
and  I  made  coffee,  and  we  all  sat  round  a  little  zariba  with 
our  backs  to  the  sun  and  our  feet  to  the  startling  cliffs. 
"Fadhling"  had  begun  again,  and  this  time  we  learned 
many  things,  all  because  when  we  asked  if  the  water 
were  good,  Sidi  Mohammed  said,  "In  the  Nasrani  well 
it  is  very  sweet!"  "Nasrani?  Did  a  Christian  make  it?" 
"Yes;  many  years  ago  a  Christian  came  here,  flying 
from  Kufara,  where  he  had  lost  all  his  belongings, 
and  he  dug  that  well."  At  last  we  had  found  Rohlfs' 
traces!  In  great  excitement  we  followed  the  lead  the 
sheikhs  had  unwittingly  given.  After  an  hour's  con- 
versation we  discovered  that  a  man  called  Korayim  Bu 
Abd  Rabu  had  protected  Rohlfs  in  Kufara  and  saved  his 
life  by  escaping  with  him  to  Benghazi,  and  that  his  son, 
Hamid  Bu  Korayim,  was  then  in  Kufara.  They  recog- 
nised the  name  of  Bukr  Bu  Guettin  as  the  man  who 
wished  to  murder  Rohlfs  and  said  that  his  son,  Mansur, 
was  now  living  in  Jedabia.  They  knew  nothing  of  the 
German's  southern  journey,  but  with  regard  to  his  state- 
ment that  he  had  gone  from  Jalo  to  Taiserbo  in  four 
and  a  half  days,  they  said  it  was  quite  possible,  as  in 
olden  times  the  Zouias  always  used  to  ride  the  waterless 
stretch  without  stopping  and  eat  their  meals  on  their 
camels.  Sidi  el  Mahdi  and  the  Senussi  family  had  started 


150   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

the  fashion  of  travelling  more  slowly  and  camping  by 
the  way. 

The  curious  thing  was  they  all  said  that  when  Rohlfs 
escaped  from  Kufara  and  passed  through  Buseima  in  his 
flight,  he  was  alone  with  Korayim,  whereas  he  speaks  of 
having  three  Germans  with  him.  The  name  by  which 
they  recognised  the  Teuton  explorer  was  Mustapha  Bey. 
Oddly  enough,  Sidi  Omar  and  Bu  Regea  proved  to  be 
nephews  of  Haballah  el  Abed,  mentioned  by  Rohlfs  as 
the  head  of  the  Ait  Anira,  part  of  the  Zouia  tribe  at 
Kufara,  and  a  descendant  of  the  last  Tebu  sultan,  while 
Abdullah  turned  out  to  be  a  near  relation  of  the  same 
chief. 

We  tried  to  discover  where  in  the  Kufara  oasis  the 
fight  had  taken  place.  "There  was  no  fight,"  they  said. 
"The  man  was  a  Nasrani.  He  came  without  the  per- 
mission of  Sidi  el  Mahdi,  who  was  then  at  Jaghabub.  He 
deserved  to  die.  His  caravan  was  eaten  up  by  Bu  Guettin 
and  the  Zouias  and  he  did  not  go  to  the  belads  at  all." 
"Where  did  he  camp,  then?"  I  asked.  "We  do  not 
know,"  they  said.  "We  were  young  then.  Senussi 
influence  had  only  just  started.  There  were  but  four 
ekhwan  in  Kufara,  but  the  Nasrani  did  not  go  into  the 
country."  It  was  impossible  to  pin  them  down  to  details, 
but  they  evidently  believed  that  the  gallant  Teuton  had 
camped  on  the  outskirts  of  Kufara  and  been  obliged  to 
retire  after  the  loss  of  his  caravan.  To  our  amusement 
neither  Abdullah  nor  our  two  visitors  were  proud  of  their 
connexion  with  the  Tebu  sultan.  "It  was  before  Islam," 
they  said.  "The  Tebawiya  were  infidels — Kufara!" 

We  asked  if  there  were  any  of  these  savages  left  in 
Buseima  and  were  told  that  the  Tebus  were  rapidly 
dying  out  and  while  some  had  been  converted  to  Islam 
and  continued  living  in  Kufara  and  Taiserbo,  the 
remainder  had  ensconced  themselves  in  Ribiana.  OUT 


THE  LAKE  IN  THE  DESERT  151 

Informant  added  that  when  the  Zouias  made  their 
voluntary  submission  to  Sidi  Ben  Ali  es  Senussi  the 
Tebus  were  already  their  servants  or  slaves,  for  they 
had  been  originally  conquered  by  the  Fawai  tribe,  who 
had  been  forced  to  give  way  to  the  Ghawazi,  who  in  their 
turn  had  fallen  before  the  prowess  of  the  fighting 
Zouias.  This  tribe  originally  came  from  the  Fezzan,  where 
some  of  the  stock  still  exist  in  the  Aulad  Bu  Hassan. 

We  went  to  bed  that  night  feeling  really  truimphant, 
for  the  shadows  that  for  so  long  had  veiled  the  strange 
Libyan  oasis  were  being  gradually  rolled  away.  At  the 
same  time  we  realised  how  difficult  it  is  to  dig  out  even 
recent  history  from  the  cautious  Arab  brain.  We  were 
anxious  to  open  a  Tebu  tomb,  but  in  order  to  do  so  we 
had  to  talk  for  nearly  an  hour  about  Egyptian  mummies, 
so  that  we  could  ask  if  perchance  the  infidels  who  used 
to  live  in  Buseima  had  buried  their  dead  in  the  same  way. 
I  must  acknowledge  that  Sidi  Mohammed  el  Madeni  was 
the  most  intelligent  and  broad-minded  Arab  whom  I  have 
met.  From  him  we  learnt  much  of  the  history  of  the 
spread  of  the  Senussi  influence  through  the  Sahara,  and 
he  offered  to  show  us  all  over  the  oasis  on  the  following 
day. 

We  woke  late  on  January  6  and  found  both  our 
watches  had  stopped,  but  the  sun  was  strong,  so  we 
imagined  it  must  be  about  8,  and  hurried  through  a 
breakfast  of  coffee,  dates  and  unleavened  bread  in  order 
to  begin  our  voyage  of  exploration.  Our  start,  however, 
was  delayed  by  a  furious  quarrel  between  the  blacks  and 
the  Beduins  as  to  whose  duty  it  was  to  re-make  the 
baggage  saddles  and  fetch  water  for  the  camp.  For  once 
I  discarded  soothing  words  and  rated  them  all  so  soundly 
that  in  a  few  moments  the  toothless  Farraj  was  creeping 
off  in  one  direction  with  a  girba  and  Shakri  positively 
running  to  the  wadi  in  search  of  "leaf."  Earlier  in  the 


152   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

morning  there  had  been  another  squabble  as  to  who 
should  go  to  the  village  for  the  festal  sheep.  We  now 
learned  that  the  Sudanese  dared  not  approach  the  village 
singly.  They  had  spent  most  of  the  night  on  sentry 
duty  of  the  most  primitive  kind.  They  had  made  a  fire 
and  sat  well  within  its  light,  so  that  no  lurking  marauder 
would  have  had  the  slightest  difficulty  in  shooting  them 
at  all.  They  also  talked  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  which 
disturbed  our  sleep  and  naturally  after  such  unusual 
energy  they  were  feeling  cross  and  tired.  The  arrival  of 
the  black  and  white  sheep,  led  by  the  undismayed  Omar, 
cheered  them  up  somewhat,  and  we  left  them  already 
making  plans  for  its  division. 

It  is  generally  impossible  to  buy  food  in  the  desert 
oases.  There  are  no  regular  customers  and  no  suq.  Each 
family  produces  enough  for  its  own  consumption  only. 
Thus  neither  bread,  eggs  nor  milk  were  forthcoming, 
though  we  were  reported  rich.  Dates  are  always  an 
exception  to  the  rule.  A  mejidie  buys  a  great  sackful 
and  though  Buseima  and  Ribiana  do  not  pay  taxes  in 
money,  they  feed  the  Sayed's  camels  free  when  they 
happen  to  pass  through.  They  also  pay  a  percentage  of 
sacks  of  dates  yearly  to  the  Government.  An  official 
comes  from  Kufara  to  collect  them.  Faqrun  offered  us 
some  of  those  that  were  stored  ready  for  removal.  "You 
are  the  Sayed's  guests.  You  have  a  right  to  them,"  he 
said.  Though  there  was  no  fodder  or  grass  for  our  beasts, 
there  were  plentiful  date  rations.  We  had  bargained 
endlessly  over  the  sheep  with  a  strong-minded  female  in 
the  attractive  Buseima  dress — white  tobh  with  scarlet 
girdle,  a  black  cloth  wound  closely  round  the  face  like 
a  nun's  coif  and  the  barracan  of  rose  and  saffron  just 
doubled  and  flung  over  her  head  like  a  great  shawl. 
Finally,  we  bought  it  for  fourteen  mejidies,  and  a  small 
boy  suddenly  appeared  with  ten  eggs,  for  which  he  asked 


THE  LAKE  IN  THE  DESERT  153 

a  me j idle  (fivepence)  each!  Abdullah  contributed  the 
most  bitter  goat's  milk  I  have  ever  tasted,  mixed  with 
fresh  laghbi — the  juice  of  the  palm,  which  ferments  after 
twenty-four  hours  and  makes  a  very  potent  liquor.  The 
stern  Senussi  law  decrees  that  anyone  getting  drunk  on 
laghbi  shall  be  flogged  and  fined. 

After  all  disputes  were  settled  we  mounted  the  two 
least  weary  camels  and  started  picking  our  way  across 
the  waste  of  salt  that  lay  between  our  camp  at  one  end 
of  the  semi-circular  strip  of  palms  and  the  village  at  the 
other.  It  was  difficult  going,  because  the  salt  was  caked 
in  hard  and  uneven  formation,  but  it  was  a  wonderful 
morning,  vividly  clear  and  cool  in  spite  of  a  brilliant  sun. 
To  the  east  of  us  lay  the  chain  of  cliffs,  no  longer  black, 
but  purplish  red,  against  the  pale  dunes  beyond.  To  the 
west  was  an  iridescent  blue  lake  about  eight  kilometres 
long,  very  salt,  so  that  no  fish  can  live  in  it,  but  exquisitely 
translucent.  Beyond  it  was  the  border  of  massed  palms 
and  the  faintly  coral  sands,  for  the  reddish  dust  from  the 
gebel  tints  the  neighbouring  country. 

Half-way  across  the  salt  waste  we  were  met  by  Sidi 
Mohammed,  and  before  we  left  it  the  whole  male  popula- 
tion of  Buseima  had  joined  us.  Our  amusement  may  be 
imagined  when  we  discovered  that  it  numbered  about 
a  score!  Including  men,  women  and  children,  I  don't 
believe  that  there  were  more  than  fifty  human  beings 
in  the  danger  spot  that  all  our  fully  armed  retinue  were 
mortally  afraid  to  approach!  Thereafter  we  had  the 
profoundest  distrust  of  the  far-spread  tales  of  marauding 
bands  and  murdered  caravans. 

I  also  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Senussi  influence 
was  much  more  firmly  established  in  the  smaller  oasis 
than  is  generally  supposed.  Sidi  Mohammed  had  kissed 
the  Sayed's  letter  and  touched  his  eyelids  with  it  and  the 
important  Faqrun  family,  about  whose  loyalty  our  retinue 


154   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

had  entertained  the  gravest  doubts,  had  only  waited  to 
welcome  us  until  they  were  certain  we  were  under  the 
protection  of  Sidi  Idris.  Once  assured  of  this,  the 
two  brothers  Faqrun,  Maihub  and  Salah,  met  us  most 
amicably  and  showed  us  the  ruins  of  a  Tebu  village  on 
the  north-west  shore  of  the  lake.  The  Tebawiya  must 
have  led  cramped  existences,  for  their  houses  are  tiny  and 
of  an  odd  formation,  a  series  of  small,  round  constructions 
like  immense  native  ovens.  Some  of  them  had  three  or 
four  of  these  round  "rooms"  clustered  together  without 
regular  order,  like  the  cells  in  a  honeycomb.  They  were 
made  of  stones  and  quite  hard  mortar,  and  were  window- 
less  unless  there  had  originally  been  some  windows  higher 
up.  Unfortunately  they  were  all  roofless,  the  highest 
walls  being  about  15  feet  8  inches.  Only  one  door  gave 
access  even  to  the  biggest  clusters. 

Before  we  came  to  these  ruins  we  passed  east  of  one 
of  the  smaller  round  hills  of  the  Gara  and  faint  traces 
of  a  Tebu  fort  were  pointed  out  to  us.  There  had  been 
another  on  the  main  cliff  of  the  gebel  opposite,  so  the 
Tebu  must  have  been  a  warrior  race.  These  forts  would 
have  been  impregnable,  situated  on  the  top  of  almost 
perpendicular  rocks,  commanding  a  view  of  the  surround- 
ing country  50  kilometres  on  every  side  and,  moreover, 
showing  a  very  good  idea  of  defence,  for  they  must  have 
utilised  various  ridges  of  rock  as  walls  and  barricades. 
On  the  main  gebel  are  some  Tebu  tombs,  but  they  are 
difficult  to  find  among  the  mass  of  stones.  These  primi- 
tive people  were  buried  in  a  sitting  position  exactly  as 
Rohlfs  describes  the  one  he  saw  in  Taiserbo,  but  gener- 
ally they  have  sheepskins  wound  round  them.  Apparently 
they  had  no  knowledge  of  textiles  and  wore  only  skins. 

The  main  village  of  Buseima,  at  the  north-west  end 
of  the  lake,  with  well-kept  and  well-fenced  date  gardens, 
in  which  grow  a  few  vegetables  and  fig-trees,  stretching 


THE  LAKE  IN  THE  DESERT  155 

to  the  water's  edge,  was  another  surprise  to  us,  for  it 
contained  but  six  houses,  square  buildings  with  solid,  well- 
constructed  walls,  and  regular,  neatly  finished  yards,  with 
strong  wooden  doors.  They  looked  neat  and  comfort- 
able, and  had  none  of  the  crumbling  aspect  so  common 
to  Arab  villages.  Here  we  left  the  men  of  Buseima  after 
they  had  promised  to  come  and  share  our  woolly  sheep 
with  us  in  the  evening.  Sidi  Mohammed  continued  the 
tour  of  the  lake  to  show  us  the  Bir  Nasrani,  a  tiny  hollow 
at  the  roots  of  a  great  clump  of  palms.  We  had  brought 
our  fanatis  to  fill,  as  this  was  supposed  to  be  the  best  water 
in  the  oasis  and,  wrhile  two  blacks  were  slowly  scooping 
up  the  cold  liquid,  we  "fadhled"  in  the  shade  and  drew 
maps  in  the  sand,  locating  the  elusive  Taiserbo  where 
"each  man  sticks  to  his  village  and  never  goes  beyond 
it;  so  no  one  meets  them  or  hears  about  them."  Ribiana, 
we  found,  lay  a  day  and  a  half's  journey  due  south, 
through  bad  sands,  which  put  it  in  the  middle  of  Kufara 
(Kebabo)  according  to  our  map. 

After  leaving  the  well  we  skirted  round  the  whole  of 
the  outer  shore  of  the  lake  and  wondered  if  we  had 
wandered  into  fairyland  by  mistake.  It  seemed  incredible 
that  after  fourteen  days  in  the  intolerable  sands,  unchang- 
ing and  characterless,  we  should  be  in  an  iridescent 
setting  of  turquoise,  emerald  and  amethyst.  Buseima  is 
the  loveliest  oasis  I  have  ever  seen,  with  its  strange,  ruddy 
hills — jewels  purple  and  crimson  reflected  in  the  silver 
salt  mirage  which  girdles  the  bluest  lake  in  the  world. 
All  this  colour  is  clear-cut  against  the  soft,  pale  dunes. 
It  is  seen  through  a  frame  of  drooping  palm  branches  with 
perhaps  a  rose-hued  figure,  scarlet  sashed,  guarding  a 
flock  of  goats  by  a  dark  pool  among  high  green  rushes. 
Time  stood  still  for  us  that  day  as  we  wandered  slowly 
on  from  green  of  the  palms  to  gold  of  the  sands  and  so 
back  to  our  tents  in  the  wadi.  We  had  eaten  nothing 


156   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

since  the  date  and  damper  breakfast,  so  we  urged  Faraj 
to  cook  some  part  of  the  sheep — which  now  hung  in  neat 
portions  in  the  thickest  palm  clump — as  speedily  as 
possible,  but  certainly  our  day  was  out  of  gear,  for  the 
sun  set  as  the  smiling  black  triumphantly  produced  our 
lunch — a  raw-looking  leg  of  mutton  in  a  small  frying-pan 
with  two  minute,  sandy,  poached  eggs  balanced  on  top 
of  it! 

Later  the  two  Faqruns,  Sidi  Mohammed,  Sidi  Omar 
and  Bu  Regea,  came  to  partake  of  our  sheep  flanked  by 
two  enormous  bowls  of  rice.  Everybody  ate  out  of  the 
same  dish  with  their  fingers,  scooping  up  the  food  swiftly, 
without  speech,  but  with  loud  sucking  noises.  After- 
wards we  drank  so  much  green  tea  that  sleep  became 
impossible,  and  with  the  stars  for  lamps  and  the  palm 
clumps  for  walls,  we  sat  round  a  little  fire  and  talked 
slowly  with  long  pauses.  We  were  told  that  when  Sidi 
Idris  passed  through  the  oasis  he  camped  for  two  days 
under  an  immense  cluster  of  palms  within  six  feet  of  the 
blue  lake  and  the  spot  was  now  regarded  with  awe  and 
reverence.  We  informed  our  guests  that  the  Emir  had 
lately  gone  to  Italy  to  visit  the  King.  Sidi  Mohammed 
seemed  puzzled  that  the  Holy  One  should  have  established 
such  a  precedent.  "Why  did  not  the  King  come  to  see 
the  Sayed?"  he  asked,  "for  it  is  the  visitor,  not  the  host, 
who  confers  honour  in  Arab  land." 

Finally  the  question  of  departure  arose  and  we 
discussed  the  possibility  of  going  to  Taiserbo  first, 
thinking  from  Rohlfs'  description  that  there  must  be 
some  interesting  Tebu  ruins  there.  Taiserbo  was  sup- 
posed by  the  adventurous  German  to  have  been  the  seat 
of  the  Tebu  sultanate  and  he  suggested  that  some  ruins 
at  Diranjedi  might  have  been  the  stronghold  of  the 
reigning  potentate.  For  this  reason  we  were  anxious 
to  see  the  second  largest  of  the  desert  oases,  in  spite  of 


THE  LAKE  IN  THE  DESERT  157 

the  fact  that  geographically  and  commercially  it  was 
described  as  uninteresting.  Kufara  is  the  centre  of  the 
Sahara  world;  Buseima  produces  the  finest  dates  in 
Libya  and  caravans  come  from  Jalo  to  fetch  them; 
Ribiana  is  apparently  the  haunt  of  the  most  lawless 
human  element  in  the  neighbourhood.  We  were  told 
that  there  were  five  hundred  Tebu  there,  but  it  was 
probably  incorrect. 

Taiserbo  is  outside  the  trade  circuit  and  contents  itself 
with  a  peaceful,  self-centred  existence.  We  heard  the 
number  of  its  inhabitants  put  as  low  as  fifty  and  as 
high  as  two  hundred.  With  regard  to  its  size,  it  was 
generally  supposed  to  be  between  25  and  30  kilometres 
long  and  about  10  kilometres  in  breadth.  It  lies  from 
north-west  to  south-east,  with  its  northernmost  end  but 
a  point  or  two  west  of  due  south  of  Jalo.  It  comprises 
eleven  so-called  villages  of  which  the  largest  is  Gezira, 
containing  ten  houses.  The  traveller  from  the  north 
should  arrive  at  Ain  Jelelat  or  Ain  Talib,  within  a. 
kilometre  of  each  other.  Two  kilometres  south  of  these 
wells  is  Gezira,  where  there  is  the  Senussi  zawia,  whose 
sheikh  is  Sidi  Mohammed  el  Madeni,  brother  of  our  friend 
with  the  same  name.  South  of  Gezira  lies  Mabus  el 
Awadil  and  Mabus  Gaballa,  some  2  kilometres  apart. 
Sixteen  kilometres  east  of  Gezira  is  Kusebeya,  the  most 
easterly  point  in  the  oasis.  Eight  kilometres  west  of 
Ain  Jelelat  is  El  Wadi  and  a  kilometre  farther  on  is 
El  Abd.  On  the  extreme  West  is  Tunisi.  At  El  Wadi 
is  the  Kasr  Diranjedi,  where  there  are  some  old  Tebu 
buildings,  one  of  which  might  have  been  a  castle  or  a 
palace.  El  Wadi  is  the  most  populated  part.  There 
are  other  Tebu  ruins  at  Dahwa,  Ain  Jelelat  and 
Gezira. 

There  are  clusters  of  palms  round  all  the  villages,  with 
patches  of  "half a"  (half  grass,  half  moss)  in  between. 


158  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

A  band  of  "hattab" — small  mounds  with  some  brush- 
wood and  fodder — surrounds  the  whole  oasis.  Some  of 
the  smaller  villages  contain  but  two  or  three  houses.  The 
larger  dwellings  are  made  of  sand  and  stones,  and  the 
poor  ones  are  merely  shelters  of  woven  palm  leaves  with 
small,  square  courts  of  palms. 

Most  of  this  information  came  from  the  Sheikh  el 
Madeni,  whose  people  had  originally  lived  in  Jaghabub, 
where  they  had  a  violent  quarrel  with  another  family  of 
ekhwans.  Blood  had  been  shed  and  Sayed  Ahmed 
Sherif  had  arbitrarily  ordered  the  emigration  of  the 
Madeni  to  Taiserbo,  where  two  brothers  now  lived.  The 
one  we  met  had  quarrelled  with  them,  and  been  banished 
to  Buseima.  It  speaks  well  for  the  prestige  of  the 
Senussi  family  that  the  Madeni  are  still  their  loyal  ad- 
herents, though  poor  Sidi  Mohammed  spoke  of  Kufara 
and  Jaghabub  as  centres  of  civilisation  and  culture  and 
Buseima  as  the  back  of  beyond. 

We  spent  hours  drawing  sand  maps  in  the  firelight, 
while  a  waning  moon  gleamed  pale  in  the  amazing  sky 
of  Africa,  sapphire  blue,  yet  soft  as  the  azure  veils  of 
a  Circassian  bride.  Occasionally  the  toothless  Farraj 
challenged  an  imaginary  passer-by  with  a  sharp  "Min?" 
Occasionally  there  was  a  rustle  in  the  palms,  which  Shakri 
said  was  a  cat  who  wanted  to  investigate  our  temporary 
larder.  Before  that  night  I  had  no  idea  how  exciting  it 
was  trying  to  make  geography.  For  a  year  I  had  worked 
and  plotted  to  reach  Kufara  because  the  thought  of  this 
holy  oasis,  nucleus  of  the  greatest  Islamic  confraternity, 
rigidly  guarded  from  every  stranger,  the  centre  of  the 
mighty  influence  against  which  every  European  Power 
has  battled  in  turn,  stirred  my  imagination.  As  I 
gradually  learned  more  about  this  group  of  desert  cities, 
Hawari,  Jof,  Boema,  Tolelib,  Tolab,  Zuruk  and  the  holy 
Taj,  and  realised  how  they  represented  the  spider  at  the 


THE  LAKE  IN  THE  DESERT  159 

heart  of  the  web,  whose  threads  were  the  long  caravan 
routes  spreading  out  in  every  direction  from  Tripoli  to 
the  Sudan,  from  Lake  Chad  to  Egypt,  the  commercial 
side  of  the  problem  fascinated  me.  Kufara  controls  the 
desert  trade  of  half  the  Sahara.  So  few  of  the  old  routes 
are  open  now  and  others  are  almost  impracticable  for 
lack  of  wells,  but  there  are  infinite  possibilities  in  the 
future.  Camels  need  not  remain  for  ever  the  only  means 
of  transport  in  Libya.  Cisterns  of  water  might  be  stored 
at  various  known  posts,  as  is  done  between  Jalo  and 
Jaghabub,  where  the  Sayeds  have  caused  water  to  be  kept 
in  great  stone  jars  for  the  use  of  travellers. 

That  night  at  Buseima,  when  our  guests  departed, 
we  returned  to  the  tent  athirst  for  map-making.  We 
shut  the  flaps  and  drew  out  our  secreted  apparatus.  We 
ruined  many  sheets  of  paper  and  lost  our  compass  in  the 
sand  a  dozen  times  before  we  produced  the  first  rough 
chart  of  the  desert  oasis,  but  we  felt  the  effort  was  worth 
while  when  we  saw  the  wells  we  had  added  to  the  1915 
Egyptian  Survey  map.  "Let  us  hope  we  shall  have 
saved  the  next  European  quite  a  lot  of  trouble!"  said 
Hassanein,  unconsciously  adding  sand  to  his  already 
ruffled  hair. 

Sidi  Mohammed  spent  the  night  in  our  camp.  I 
thought  it  was  to  avoid  the  long  walk  back  in  the  dark, 
for  he  lived  in  the  farthest  away  of  the  two  villages.  In 
the  morning  I  discovered  he  had  done  it  as  a  precaution. 
Apparently  the  tales  of  danger  were  not  so  absurd  as 
we  had  thought.  The  Faqrun  men  had  said  to  Moham- 
med, "Wallahi!  If  it  had  not  been  for  Sidi  el  Madeni, 
we  would  have  killed  you  all!"  It  remains  a  complete 
mystery  how  they  proposed  to  do  it,  but  there  could  be 
no  further  doubt  about  Buseima's  dislike  of  strangers. 
A  pale-faced  woman  had  slipped  out  of  the  bushes  to 
talk  to  Mora j a  as  he  went  out  of  the  camp.  The  sergeant 


160   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

had  Arab  blood  mixed  with  his  Sudanese  and  the  figure 
in  blurred  reds  and  fawns  was  of  his  kin.  "Why  did 
you  bring  these  Egyptians  here?"  she  asked  angrily. 
"We  do  not  want  strangers.  Make  them  go,  or  they 
will  suffer!"  The  morning  of  January  7,  therefore, 
everyone  had  a  new  panic.  It  was  in  vain  that  we  asked 
them  if  they  were  afraid  of  a  mere  handful  or  of  shadows. 
They  resurrected  all  the  old  stories  and,  with  frantic 
glances  at  the  deserted  dunes,  they  implored  us  to  de- 
part at  once. 

The  pitiful  thing  was  that  Mohammed's  spirit  was 
utterly  broken  by  the  last  three  days  of  thirst.  "Allah 
has  given  me  a  new  life,"  he  said.  "I  dare  not  risk  it 
again."  We  were  quite  used  to  the  cowardice  of  Yusuf 
and  Abdul  Rahim,  a  pathetic  little  wisp  of  a  man  who 
had  no  physique  and  no  fighting  spirit,  but  I  was  very 
sorry  for  Mohammed.  He  had  been  my  greatest  ally, 
always  ready  for  work  or  for  risk.  Now  his  mind  seemed 
to  have  suffered  as  well  as  his  body.  I  wondered  whether 
he  would  be  of  much  use  to  us  in  the  future.  As  I 
poached  eggs  on  a  sweet-smelling  fire  and  made  coffee 
in  the  "Nasrani  water,"  which  tasted  so  sweet  but  which 
made  one's  mouth  terribly  dry,  I  wished  the  retinue 
could  absorb  a  little  of  the  scene.  The  only  things  that 
moved  in  the  purple  and  gold  of  rock  and  dune  were 
the  little  grey  and  black  birds,  like  water-wagtails — the 
"abu  fasada"  of  Egypt.  I  suppose  one  should  make 
an  exception  for  the  insects,  for  there  were  several  kinds 
of  beetles,  as  well  as  long,  sandy  locusts  and  actually 
mosquitoes,  though  the  latter  were  either  particularly 
merciful  or  abhorred  the  European  as  much  as  did  the 
other  inhabitants  of  Buseima. 

After  breakfast  we  climbed  to  the  top  of  one  of  the 
rocky  cliffs.  Moraja  assured  us  that  it  would  take  the 
whole  day.  We  completed  the  ascent  in  three-quarters 


I 


CAKAVAN"   ON    Tllf.   MARCH    BETWEEN"    Bl"TTAFAI.   AND  TAISERBO 


THE    MOUNTAIN'S    OF    BUSEIMA 


f  n*Mf*>  »%r  i  I    ft    It 


CARAVAN   IX   DUKE   COUNTRY   NEAR  BUSEIMA 


THE    FIRST    MEETING    BETWEEN    THE    FAQRUN    FAMILY 
AND   OUR    PARTY    AT    BUSEIMA 


THE  LAKE  IN  THE  DESERT  161 

of  an  hour,  probably  about  100  metres.  Our  camp  level 
in  the  wadi  was  just  under  380  metres.  The  view  was 
marvellous.  The  whole  oasis  spread  below  us,  with  the 
great  gap  in  the  cliffs  through  which  we  had  come  two 
days  before  and  beyond,  on  every  side,  were  the  waving 
lines  of  creamy  dunes,  growing  steeper  as  we  looked  south 
to  Ribiana  or  south-east  to  Kufara.  Two  spots  of  black 
broke  the  monotony  of  pale  curves — outlying  blocks  of 
the  Buseima  Gar  a. 

On  our  way  back  we  explored  a  good  many  ruined 
Tebu  houses  scattered  here  and  there  on  the  rough  salt 
waste  between  our  camp  and  the  cliffs.  The  walls  were 
still  in  good  condition  and  the  houses  were  larger  than 
on  the  farther  side  of  the  lake.  The  biggest  round  bee- 
hive room  measured  8  feet  6  inches  in  diameter.  I  left 
Hassanein  to  tell  the  retinue  that  we  would  start  the 
next  morning  and  to  listen  to  their  elaborate  plans  for 
defence  upon  the  way,  while  I  went  with  Abdullah  to  visit 
his  relations  in  the  neighbouring  village.  His  sister  lived 
in  a  low  hut  made  of  palm  branches  and  a  little  square 
court  in  front,  with  a  wall  of  the  same  waving  leaves. 
There  was  nothing  inside  the  one  room  except  some  mats 
of  plaited  fronds,  a  few  woven  grass  bowls  full  of  dates, 
a  couple  of  yellow  gourds,  a  kid-skin  of  water,  and  some 
rather  doubtful  blankets.  The  whole  life  of  these  people 
depends  on  the  palm.  Their  houses,  mats,  bowls,  food, 
drink,  baskets,  string,  shoes,  stuffing  for  camel-saddles, 
all  come  from  it. 

Several  women  gathered  round  me  in  the  cool  dark- 
ness. Most  of  them  were  pretty,  with  pale  olive  faces 
and  pointed  chins.  The  dark  eyes  of  a  Latin  race  looked 
out  between  heavy,  black-fringed  lashes,  their  features 
were  finely  cut  and  they  had  the  most  beautiful  pearly 
teeth  I  have  ever  seen.  They  told  me  it  was  the  effect 
of  dates  and  the  thing  that  most  interested  them  in  me 


162   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

was  a  gold  stopping!  They  thought  it  was  a  new  form  of 
jewellery  and  everyone  in  turn  was  called  upon  to  inspect 
and  poke  my  unfortunate  tooth.  "If  we  have  gold," 
they  said,  "we  make  it  into  necklaces  and  ear-rings. 
Why  do  you  wear  it  in  your  mouth?"  They  insisted 
on  unwinding  my  cumbersome  red  hezaam,  which  I  had 
always  rolled  round  my  waist,  and  swathing  it  very  low 
on  my  hips,  which  gave  me  the  immensely  long-bodied 
effect  of  all  Arab  women.  They  showed  me  all  their 
jewellery — huge  silver  ear-rings,  necklaces  and  amulets— 
and  asked  me  why  I  had  no  tattoo  marks  to  show  my 
tribe.  Altogether  we  spent  an  amusing  hour  in  the  dark 
palm-room,  varied  by  drinking  sour  goat's  milk  out  of 
bowls  made  of  palm  wood,  and  eating  dry,  black  dates 
almost  too  hard  to  bite. 

From  Buseima  there  are  two  routes,  one  due  south  to 
Ribiana,  described  as  a  day  and  a  half  through  very  big 
dunes,  a  hard  road  that  no  guide  likes  to  face,  and  another 
slightly  south-east,  taking  three  and  a  half  days,  of  which 
two  are  difficult.  From  Ribiana  it  is  possible  to  continue 
through  the  same  high  dunes  to  the  Kufara  group.  By 
the  more  direct  route  one  arrives  at  Hawari  and  by  the 
longer  one  at  Tolab.  We  took  the  straight  road  without 
hesitation,  for  our  camels  had  by  no  means  recovered 
from  our  last  disastrous  journey.  Two  of  the  nagas  were 
expected  to  foal  at  any  moment  and  all  looked  extremely 
thin  and  weak.  Abdul  Hafiz  shook  his  head  over  them 
despondently.  "Allah  is  great,"  he  said,  "but  so  are 
the  dunes!" 

We  left  Buseima  at  8.20  on  January  8.  Bu  Regea 
walked  with  us  to  the  top  of  the  first  sand  ridge,  from 
where  there  was  a  marvellous  view  of  the  whole  oasis, 
palms,  lake  and  mountains,  the  latter  like  ruddy  amethysts 
in  a  gold  setting.  The  "Fatha"  was  solemnly  repeated 
on  the  summit  of  a  sharp  rise;  then,  after  many  good 


THE  LAKE  IN  THE  DESERT  163 

wishes  and  blessings,  we  plunged  sharply  into  the  maze 
of  dunes.  The  strange  little  scene  stuck  in  my  mind 
because  of  the  treachery  that  we  knew  underlay  it.  The 
preceding  evening,  after  they  had  eaten  our  food,  one  of 
the  Faqrun  family  had  said  to  Yusuf,  "Wallahi!  Had 
we  but  a  force  equal  to  yours,  you  should  not  now  depart," 
while  the  loyal  Sheikh  el  Madeni  had  urged  Mohammed 
to  leave  the  oasis  as  soon  as  possible. 

The  morning  of  our  departure  a  spy  arrived  from 
Ribiana,  saying,  "The  Bazama  family  have  just  returned 
from  Jedabia,  and  they  tell  us  that  strangers  are  coming 
to  this  country.  We  cannot  believe  it  is  true  that  the 
Saved  has  given  permission  to  any  stranger  to  visit 
Kufara.  I  have  been  sent  to  discover  the  truth."  Now 
the  aged  ekhwan  who  originally  intended  to  accompany 
us  on  our  journey,  Haji  Fetater,  had  warned  Abdullah 
that  the  Sayed  should  not  allow  the  Bazamas  to  go  to 
Ribiana  until  we  had  returned  in  safety.  Amidst  all  the 
complications  of  our  departure  the  warning  had  been 
ignored,  yet  when  the  spy's  words  were  repeated  to  us  we 
felt  at  last  we  understood  the  situation.  Ever  since  we 
had  left  Jedabia  there  had  been  a  strange  undercurrent 
that  we  could  not  understand.  We  met  with  much  hos- 
pitality and  friendliness,  yet  always  an  odd  distrust 
dogged  our  footsteps,  while  queer,  impossible  rumours 
spread  before  us.  There  was  the  robber  band  that  laid  in 
wait  for  us  near  Bir  Rassam.  There  was  the  change  of 
front  at  Aujela.  Even  in  Jalo  there  was  a  faint  uneasy 
shadow,  which  Hameida  Bey  Zeitun  explained  by  saying 
that  some  of  the  sheikhs  were  old-fashioned  and  ignorant. 
Then  came  the  actual  enmity  of  Buseima,  with  all  the 
rumours  and  warnings  that  terrified  our  retinue  and  were 
disregarded  by  us.  The  culminating  point  was  the  arrival 
of  the  spy,  whose  tale  gave  us  every  reason  to  suppose 
that  we  should  be  attacked  on  the  way  to  Kufara,  for  he 


164   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

made  exhaustive  inquiries  as  to  the  strength  of  our  party 
and  the  retinue  we  were  taking. 

It  was  Mohammed  who  elucidated  the  mystery.  He 
told  us  that  the  Bazamas  were  an  old  and  highly  respected 
Senussi  family,  who  had  been  ekhwan  since  the  ancestor, 
who  was  sent  to  Kufara  by  Sidi  Ben  Ali,  was  one  of  the 
original  four  who  were  to  instruct  the  Zouias  in  the  faith 
of  Islam.  There  had  been  an  ancient  dispute  about  the 
possession  of  some  land  in  Ribiana  between  the  Sayeds 
and  a  member  of  this  family,  but  Sayed  Ahmed  had 
settled  matters  amicably  by  making  them  sheikhs  of 
Ribiana.  Unfortunately,  they  had  lately  evaded  the 
payment  of  "Onshur"  (the  tenth  part)  to  the  Govern- 
ment, on  the  grounds  that  they  had  not  enough  servants 
to  till  the  lands.  Sidi  Idris  had  just  removed  them  from 
office  and  appointed  another  man  in  their  place.  Con- 
sequently the  whole  Bazama  family  were  in  search  of 
revenge.  What  better  opportunity  could  offer  than  the 
murder  of  the  Sayed's  guests,  who  were,  moreover, 
generally  supposed  to  be  engaged  on  an  important 
Senussi  mission? 

Now  we  could  trace  all  the  threads  to  one  spinning- 
wheel.  We  had  attributed  the  robbers  to  chance  greed, 
the  affair  at  Aujela  to  the  meanness  of  a  surly  Zouia  who 
did  not  wish  to  feast  the  travellers,  the  rumours  of  danger 
in  Buseima  to  the  strained  imaginations  of  the  retinue. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  probably  owed  our  continued 
existence  in  the  first  place  to  our  disguised  flight,  which 
misled  Jedabia.  Later  on,  Hassanein's  eloquence  the 
first  night  in  the  She-ib's  tent  at  Aujela;  at  Jalo,  the 
loyalty  of  the  kaimakaan;  at  Buseima  the  smallness  of 
the  population  doubtless  saved  us  from  disaster;  but  what 
about  Kufara?  The  Bazamas  might  have  much  influence 
there,  and  in  a  large  Arab  oasis  there  are  always  factions 
only  too  glad  of  an  excuse  to  squabble.  The  sacred 


THE  LAKE  IN  THE  DESERT  165 

character  of  the  place  and  the  fierce  fanaticism  of  the 
older  Senussi  would  give  our  enemies  every  chance  of 
fomenting  the  distrust  which  the  advent  of  the  first 
strangers  in  their  history  must  naturally  arouse.  Moham- 
med and  Yusuf  were  exceedingly  troubled.  For  the 
hundredth  time  I  imagine  they  wished  they  had  never 
started  on  this  southern  journey!  The  story  invented  by 
the  Bazamas,  the  one  most  likely  to  unite  every  faction 
and  family  against  us,  was  that  Sidi  Idris  had  sold  Ku- 
fara,  Ribiana  and  Buseima  to  Europeans,  and  that  Chris- 
tian strangers  ( sometimes  I  was  reported  to  be  the  Queen 
of  Italy!)  were  coming  to  gain  all  information  about  the 
country,  so  that  the  Europeans  could  occupy  it  with 
greater  ease!  Unless  this  amazing  rumour  could  be 
rapidly  discredited,  every  man's  hand  would  be  against 
us  and  our  lives  not  worth  the  fraction  of  a  centime! 

We  calculated  that  the  spy  would  waste  at  least  half 
the  day  "fadhling"  at  Buseima,  after  which  it  would 
take  him  a  day  to  return  to  Ribiana.  We  expected  that 
more  time  would  be  wasted  there  in  organising  the  attack 
and  so  hoped,  by  moving  speedily,  to  arrive  at  Hawari 
without  a  battle.  It  would  not  matter  much,  in  case  of 
attack,  whether  we  were  victorious  or  not,  for  in  the 
former  case  we  should  have  started  a  blood  feud  and  the 
relatives  of  the  slain  would  lie  in  wait  for  us  on  our 
return. 

Unfortunately,  the  dunes  made  rapid  progress  im- 
possible. The  camels  slipped  and  fell  going  down 
them;  the  ungirthed  loads  were  flung  off  in  all  direc- 
tions. The  beasts  had  to  be  urged  up  them  slowly  and 
laboriously.  We  were  obliged  to  wind  round  the  largest 
and  our  course  that  day  was  an  infinitely  slow  zigzag. 
We  rose  to  a  height  of  580  metres,  with  great  waves  and 
ridges  of  dunes  running  irregularly  on  every  side.  At 
3  P.  M.  we  arrived  at  an  almost  flat  stretch  with  one  very 


166   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

high  pointed  dune  measuring  nearly  100  metres  high  at 
the  farther  side.  We  clambered  up  this  and  had  a 
wonderful  view  over  the  turbulent  sea  of  sand.  Behind 
us  the  great  cliffs  of  Buseima  appeared  just  sunk  among 
the  dunes.  On  the  western  horizon  rose  another  long, 
square-topped  formation,  dark  as  the  gara  we  had  left. 
This  was  the  mountain  of  Ribiana.  It  appeared  to  me 
at  least  60  kilometres  away.  To  the  east  were  clearly 
visible  the  Fadil  hills  and  the  Hawaish  between  Zieghen 
and  Kufara,  mere  little  blots  of  indigo  among  the  curly 
sand  ridges.  At  5  P.M.  we  were  forced  to  camp  because 
one  of  the  nagas  was  foaling.  She  walked  up  to  the  last 
moment  and  an  hour  later  she  appeared  to  have  recovered, 
but,  alas!  the  foal  was  reported  dying,  which  depressed 
the  Arabs  intensely,  for  camels  are  gold  in  their  eyes, 
and  gold  to  them  is  Alpha  and  Omega  and  a  great  deal 
else  in  between! 

The  Sudanese  amused  me  greatly  that  evening. 
"Don't  be  afraid!  We  will  defend  your  life,"  said 
Farraj  cheerfully.  With  memories  of  their  various  panics 
in  Buseima,  I  replied,  "Don't  you  worry  about  defend- 
ing my  life.  I  can  do  that  all  right.  Keep  your  minds 
fixed  on  defending  your  own!"  This  was  a  new  point 
of  view  and  elicited  the  doleful  answer,  "But  I  don't 
want  to  fight  without  a  reason.  There  is  a  little  girl 
I  want  to  marry  when  I  go  back !" 

January  9  was  a  very  cold  morning,  so  the  retinue 
dawdled  hopelessly  over  their  meal.  The  Sudanese  prefer 
the  fiercest  sun  to  a  touch  of  cold,  which  literally  freezes 
them.  We  started  at  8  A.M.,  and  made  better  progress 
than  the  previous  day,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  foal, 
having  completely  recovered,  had  to  be  carried  in  a  sort 
of  pannier  on  the  mother's  back.  The  dunes  were  very 
uneven  in  size.  Sometimes  for  a  kilometre  or  two  there 
was  a  stretch  of  mildly  undulating  sands  and  then  we 


THE  LAKE  IN  THE  DESERT  167 

would  come  to  great  massive  dunes  like  small  mountains, 
from  the  top  of  which  one  had  a  view  of  the  four  black, 
rocky  chains,  roughly  east,  south,  north  and  west.  At 
10  A.M.  we  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  Seif  el-Biram, 
which  the  Arabs  say  is  the  highest  on  the  route.  It  is 
called  the  "Dune  of  Firepots,"  because  the  Zouia 
women,  flying  south  before  the  Turkish  occupation  of  the 
northern  oasis,  took  their  clay  cooking  pots  with  them  on 
their  camels.  As  the  beasts  crawled  down  the  precipitous 
slopes  of  the  mighty  dune  the  vessels  fell  off  and  were 
all  broken!  To  a  certain  extent  our  caravan  repeated 
the  experience,  for  most  of  the  baggage  collapsed  and  a 
strange  woman  who  was  travelling  with  us — a  pale  girl- 
widow,  who  had  left  her  baby  in  Buseima  because  her 
husband's  family  refused  to  give  it  up  and  had  claimed 
our  protection  to  go  to  Kufara  to  join  her  own  people — 
turned  a  complete  somersault  over  the  head  of  her 
surprised  camel.  Luckily  the  sand  was  soft!  It  became 
distinctly  pinkish  as  we  went  farther  south,  a  pale  coral 
colour.  Unfortunately,  another  naga  took  it  into  her 
head  to  foal,  after  we  had  done  only  28  kilometres  and 
we  were  forced  to  camp  at  3  P.M.  Luckily  there  was  no 
doubt  about  this  foal's  health,  so  we  avoided  the  gloom 
of  the  preceding  evening. 

Yusuf  and  Abdullah  sat  with  me  while  the  tent  was 
being  erected  in  a  wide  open  space,  splendidly  open  to 
attack,  but  the  fatalistic  spirit  of  the  desert  had  made 
us  careless.  They  told  me  stories  of  Sidi  el  Mahdi,  who 
is  supposed  among  the  Beduins  to  be  still  alive  and  a 
mystic  wanderer  in  the  Sahara.  Some  day  he  will 
return  to  lead  the  Senussi  to  further  glory  and  power, 
"Inshallah!"  They  say  that  he  disappeared  suddenly 
at  Garu  on  the  way  to  Wadai  and  another  was  buried 
in  his  place  in  the  holy  morabit  in  Kufara.  As  an  instance 
of  his  continued  existence  they  quoted  the  experience 


168   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

of  some  Arabs  seated  round  their  camp  fire  amidst  the 
starlit  dunes.  To  them  came  a  stranger  who  asked  them 
for  news  of  the  Mahdi.  "Our  lord  is  dead,"  they 
replied;  "the  Sayeds  at  Kufara  say  so."  "He  is  alive," 
said  the  stranger,  "Huwa  fi  Wasst."  The  Beduins 
translated  this  to  mean  that  Sidi  el  Mahdi  was  in  a  town 
called  "Wasst"  in  Algeria,  and  they  rushed  with  the 
news  to  Kufara.  "Why  did  you  not  hold  the  man?" 
asked  the  sheikhs.  "That  was  the  Mahdi.  He  is  alive. 
He  told  you  he  was  'fiwasst,'  'between  you.' '  The 
play  on  the  Arabic  words  is  clumsy  in  English.  "Fi- 
wasst" means  "between,"  "in  the  middle  of,"  while 
"fi"  means  "in,"  and  "Wasst"  might  be  the  name  of 
a  place. 

The  previous  night  we  had  camped  with  a  feeling  of 
unrest  and  apprehension.  Everybody  clung  to  his  rifle 
and  I  remember  Hassanein  and  I  had  a  fierce  dispute  over 
an  ancient  musket,  left  behind  by  a  soldier  who  had 
deserted  at  Jalo,  reducing  our  army  to  nine,  inclusive 
of  commandant  and  sergeant.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
weapon  which  really  filled  the  Beduin  soul  with  terror 
was  Hassanein's  useless  target  pistol.  Its  long  barrel 
thrilled  them  and  we  overheard  Abdullah  telling  a  friend 
that  Ahmed  Bey  had  a  revolver  which  could  shoot  people 
an  hour  away! 

The  second  night  the  desert  had  stuck  in  her  claw 
again — fatal  anaesthetic  which  makes  one  utterly  careless 
of  the  future — "What  matter  dead  yesterday  and  unborn 
to-morrow,  so  that  the  day  be  good?"  In  truth  the 
days  are  generally  extremely  trying,  for  there  is  either 
a  blazing  sun  which  burns  through  the  thin  cotton 
barracan  over  the  wound  handkerchief,  or  a  bitter  wind 
which  pierces  every  bone  in  one's  body.  Sometimes  there 
were  both  together  and  then  one  side  of  one  is  frozen 
and  the  other  baked!  One's  skin  split  and  blistered 


THE  LAKE  IN  THE  DESERT  169 

under  this  treatment,  but  there  was  only  one  hour  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  forgive  the  desert.  This  was  the 
moment  when,  at  5  A.M.,  one  crept  shivering  out  of  one's 
warm  flea-bag  into  pitch  darkness,  placed  one's  feet 
gingerly  on  icy  cold  sand,  fumbled  with  numb  fingers  for 
a  candle  and  matches,  and  proceeded  to  drag  on  cold, 
stiff  garments  from  each  of  which  fell  a  shower  of  sand. 
Meanwhile,  with  chattering  teeth,  one  had  to  call  out  loud, 
cheerful  greetings  and  hearty  good  wishes  to  rouse  our 
improvident  following,  although  one's  mind  contained 
nothing  but  venomous  invective!  However,  the  nights 
were  good.  On  that  particular  one,  Shakri,  being  sen- 
tinel, stationed  himself  clear-cut  against  the  starlit  sky 
on  the  top  of  the  highest  dune  and,  in  case  his  presence 
were  not  sufficiently  obvious,  he  played  mournful  little 
tunes  on  a  wooden  flute. 

Next  day,  January  10,  we  started  at  6.30  A.M.,  after 
the  usual  breakfast  of  half  a  plate  of  rice  with  a  dozen 
dates  and  a  cup  of  coffee.  It  is  amazing  how  one  gets 
accustomed  to  much  work  on  little  food.  We  walked 
for  eleven  and  a  quarter  hours,  doing  44  kilometres  as 
the  crow  flies,  with  only  a  handful  of  dates  at  midday. 
Moreover,  when  we  reached  camp  there  was  always 
map -drawing  and  writing  to  be  done  before  we  thought 
of  supper. 

That  day  Abdullah  and  I  started  off  briskly  in  front 
of  the  others,  for  it  was  very  cold  and  the  sun  had  not 
yet  risen  above  the  dunes.  We  were  soon  stopped  by  the 
sight  of  something  white  a  little  to  our  left.  Upon 
inspection  it  proved  to  be  a  pathetic  reminder  of  the 
desert  cruelty  we  had  escaped  just  a  week  ago.  Three 
human  skeletons  lay  in  a  huddled  group,  half -covered 
with  sand.  "Thirst,"  said  Abdullah  grimly.  It  must 
have  been  a  fairly  recent  tragedy,  for  the  men's  white 
clothes  were  in  good  condition,  and  the  skin  of  the  hands 


170   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

was  still  yellow  and  dry.  The  strange  woman  bent  over 
them  pityingly.  "Three  men  were  lost  on  their  way 
from  Ribiana  to  Kufara,"  she  said.  "Their  baggage  was 
found  but  they  had  disappeared."  The  soldiers,  how- 
ever, said  they  were  probably  blacks,  for  they  had  many 
Sudanese  he  jabs  on  them.  We  found  some  leather 
amulets,  a  fox's  foot  and  the  complete  bones  of  a  bird, 
but  I  would  not  let  the  men  disturb  the  desolate  scene 
further.  With  a  "Rahmat  Ullahi  Allahim!"  we  passed 
on  to  join  the  caravan. 

The  foals  were  being  carried  in  panniers,  one  on  each 
side  of  the  biggest  naga,  and  occasionally  we  had  to  stop 
to  let  them  feed.  Otherwise  we  made  good  pace,  for 
the  dunes  were  gradually  getting  less  steep.  At  8  A.M. 
we  mounted  the  last  big  rise  and  saw  before  us  a  sea  of 
low  coral  waves,  for  the  sand  was  getting  steadily  pinker, 
with  the  black  mass  of  the  gebel  in  front.  Great  was 
our  excitement,  however,  when,  with  binoculars,  we  were 
able  to  follow  this  chain,  apparently  with  scarcely  a  break, 
to  very  near  the  position  of  the  Ribiana  Gara.  In  fact, 
the  whole  horizon  seemed  to  be  enclosed  in  a  semicircle 
of  irregular  violet  hills,  stretching  from  the  Fadil  and 
Hawaish  to  the  north-west  and  west  with  scarcely  a  break 
where  Kufara  lay,  to  the  long  chain  of  the  Gebel  Neri. 
From  the  map  we  had  seen  we  had  supposed  the  hills  to 
be  in  small,  regular  groups.  This  marvellous  view  of  a 
land  enclosed  by  strange  cliffs  was  so  unexpected  that  it 
was  like  discovering  a  new  country.  From  that  point  the 
ranges  appeared  to  run  in  a  complete  half -circle  from 
north-west  to  south-east.  With  blazing  eyes  Hassanein 
began  tracing  his  sand  maps.  "Don't  you  see  the  Hawari 
Gara  is  a  continuation  of  the  Gebel  Neri?"  he  said. 
"Yes,  and  the  Ribiana  Gara  is  a  bit  broken  off  the  other 
end,"  I  answered  with  rising  excitement.  "Do  you 
know,  the  Hawaish  mountain  was  originally  called  the 


171 

Keid  el  Adu,  'vexation  of  the  enemy,'  "  he  continued, 
"because  no  one  could  break  through  it?"  "To  enter 
the  enclosed  land,"  I  interrupted.  "Of  course,  these 
oases  are  all  linked  in  a  circle  by  the  black  hills.  Taiserbo 
alone  has  no  gara — she  lies  outside." 

From  that  moment  I  have  always  thought  of  Buseima, 
Kufara  and  Ribiana  as  the  mountain  oases  of  Libya. 
Some  day,  no  doubt,  geologists  will  come  and  prove  our 
theory  false  or  true,  but  for  me  the  palm  gardens  isolated 
in  the  middle  of  red  sands,  each  with  its  guardian  crag, 
will  ever  be  an  island  country  within  the  arms  of  the 
strange  dark  mountains. 

The  name  Hawaish  means  a  great  beast ;  therefore  we 
questioned  Yusuf  and  Abdullah  closely  about  these 
mountains.  "No  one  ever  goes  there,"  they  said. 
"The  jinns  live  there!"  "Does  anyone  ever  go  to 
Gebel  Neri?"  "No;  they  are  afraid."  "What  are  they 
afraid  of?"  "They  do  not  know."  "Have  they  seen 
anything?"  "No.  When  they  go  near  the  mountains 
they  have  a  feeling."  "Are  there  men  there?"  "No. 
There  is  no  water  nor  food.  Men  lived  there  long  ago 
and  drank  rain  water."  "They  may  be  there  still, 
then?"  "No.  There  are  jinns."  "What  do  they 
look  like?"  "Nobody  has  seen  them."  "How  do  you 
know  they  are  there?"  "In  the  morning  one  can  some- 
times hear  a  loud  noise  as  of  many  birds."  "And  no 
one  has  seen  anything?"  "They  have  seen  bones." 
"What  kind  of  bones?"  "They  do  not  know.  They 
are  afraid."  Pressed  on  this  point,  Yusuf  said  the  bones 
were  big  and  drew  a  picture  in  the  sand  which  might 
represent  the  vertebras  of  anything  from  a  man  to  a 
camel!  I  repeat  this  conversation  verbatim  in  order  to 
show  how  difficult  it  is  to  draw  information  from  a 
Libyan  Arab  1 


CHAPTER   IX 

TREACHERY  AT  HAWARI 

IN"  the  afternoon  we  left  the  dunes  behind  and 
emerged  on  flat,  rolling  country,  with  broad  sand- 
waves  ahead  and  the  purple  crags  of  the  Neri  running 
south  in  an  irregular  mass  of  peaks  and  square-topped 
ridges,  with  dark  stretches  of  stones  and  lava  in  between. 
The  sand  was  now  the  colour  of  mellow  brickdust,  with 
occasional  streaks  of  purplish  red  and  scattered  patches  of 
stones  of  all  colours,  like  those  I  had  picked  up  in 
Buseima.  Some  of  the  ground  looked  almost  like  mosaic 
work  in  blues,  mauves  and  reds.  Hoping  to  arrive  at 
Hawari  on  the  morrow,  the  caravan  moved  briskly 
through  the  sunset,  when  the  land  turned  an  ugly  hot 
brown  and  the  aching  cliffs  tore  the  orange  sky  with 
sombre  violet  crests.  We  barraked  beneath  the  first  big, 
round  sand  wave,  from  where  we  could  see  the  dark  gara 
of  Hawari — a  continuation  of  the  Gebel  Neri — and  while 
we  triumphed  in  our  success  as  geographers,  the  retinue 
developed  a  beautiful  new  panic! 

They  had  heard  that  one  man  had  left  the  Bazama 
caravan  at  El  Harrash  and  gone  on  to  Kufara.  Abdullah 
suggested  that  he  would  have  spread  all  kinds  of  libel 
about  us  and  Abdul  Rahim  grew  pale  beneath  his  ebony! 
The  pitiful  thing  was  that  Mohammed  had  so  completely 
lost  his  nerve  that  he  too  was  terrified.  He  had  changed 
very  much  in  the  last  week.  He  no  longer  looked  out 
upon  the  world  with  his  old,  frank,  boyish  glance.  His 
eyes  wavered  and  fell.  He  never  laughed  or  sang  these 
days.  I  think  that  he  was  really  the  only  imaginative 

172 


TREACHERY  AT  HAWARI  173 

and  sensitive  man  in  the  party  and  therefore  he  alone 
had  conjured  up  visions  of  what  dying  of  thirst  really 
meant.  Also  his  reserved  pride  had  been  violently 
wounded  by  the  attitude  of  Buseima,  though  he  would 
never  acknowledge  it.  Unfortunately,  that  morning  he 
had  seen  the  skeletons  and  drew  on  his  vivid  imagination 
for  details  and  comparisons.  This  completed  his  demoral- 
isation. He  joined  with  the  guide  and  the  soldiers  in 
imploring  us  to  go  past  Hawari  by  night  and  arrive  at 
Kufara  proper  before  dawn,  so  that  by  the  time  anyone 
woke  up  in  Taj  we  should  be  established  in  one  of  the 
Sayed's  houses,  presumably  in  a  state  of  armed  defence. 
In  vain  we  argued  and  protested.  They  all  foresaw  a 
well-organised  attack  the  moment  the  inhabitants  of 
Hawari  perceived  us.  To  do  Yusuf  justice,  he  was  the 
only  one  who  declared  this  was  nonsense.  "There  may 
be  robbers,"  he  said,  "but  how  could  they  openly  attack 
the  Sayed's  slaves?"  We  found  an  unexpected  ally  in 
him  when,  sitting  round  the  camp  fire,  we  tried  to  instil 
a  little  courage  into  the  retinue  while  at  the  same  time 
insisting  on  staying  in  Hawari. 

It  had  been  an  exceedingly  hot  day  and  feet  had 
blistered  anew,  which  perhaps  accounted  for  the  mental 
depression.  Yusuf  was  our  most  reliable  barometer. 
When  he  discarded  the  fleece-lined  waterproof  and  strode 
along  in  his  fluttering  white  shirt  and  a  skull  cap,  as  he 
had  done  that  afternoon,  we  knew  it  must  be  almost 
torrid.  I  never  saw  Mohammed  walk  without  my 
plaid  rug  wound  over  the  top  of  the  torn  woolly  water- 
proof! 

January  11  I  saw  the  sun  rise  from  the  top  of  the 
immense  dune  that  had  guarded  our  slumbers.  The 
dull  sand  turned  slowly  pink  as  the  purple  cliffs  of  the 
Gebel  Neri  came  into  view  in  low,  irregular  masses  to 
the  south,  while  a  little  to  the  east  of  them  appeared 


174   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

the  solitary  black  rock  of  the  Hawari  Gara.  It  looked 
at  least  a  day's  journey  away.  Abdullah  said  we  should 
reach  it  by  midday.  As  we  marched  towards  it  I  tried 
to  draw  out  more  tales  of  the  desolate  mountain  on  our 
right,  for  I  was  intrigued  by  the  description  of  the  sounds 
heard  therein,  "a  noise  of  birds."  Hornemann,  the  first 
modern  writer  to  speak  of  the  Tebu  oasis,  says  that  the 
people  of  Aujela  described  the  speech  of  the  inhabitants 
as  "like  unto  the  whistling  of  birds."  Curiously  enough, 
the  Tebu  women  I  met  had  extraordinarily  high-pitched, 
sweet  voices,  which  sounded  rather  like  clear  warbling. 
Mora j  a  and  Abdul  Hafiz  both  volunteered  the  informa- 
tion that  "footprints"  had  been  seen  near  the  haunted 
Gebel.  "Footprints  of  what?"  I  asked.  "Well,  they 
are  like  snakes!"  they  replied.  The  anti-climax  was  too 
great.  I  could  not  bear  my  jinn  or  prehistoric  savage 
to  turn  into  a  serpent ! 

After  two  hours  we  left  the  pink  sands  and  passed 
into  the  waste  of  stony  ridges  and  small  hills  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  mountains.  The  colours  were  quite  extraor- 
dinary. Occasional  banks  of  vivid  vermilion  lay  between 
patches  of  loose  black  stone,  with  here  and  there  scattered 
blocks  of  grey,  rose  and  mauve,  at  the  foot  of  the  smaller 
cliffs.  All  round  us  the  basis  of  the  sand  was  fawnish 
red  and  as  the  stones  grew  thicker  we  found  odd  hollow 
tubes  and  balls,  heavy  and  black,  but  filled  with  sand. 
The  largest  balls  measured  more  than  a  foot  across,  the 
smallest  about  an  inch.  The  blacks  were  delighted  with 
these  new  toys  and  broke  open  the  solid  ones  to  see  the 
sand  run  out,  after  which  they  used  them  as  cups  and 
candlesticks.  I  had  never  seen  the  formation  before  and 
did  not  know  what  it  was.  We  passed  the  Hawari  Gara 
at  noon.  It  does  not  stand  out  particularly  from  the 
rest  of  the  Gebel  Neri,  as  it  is  but  one  cliff  among  many 
in  the  neighbourhood,  but  a  few  hundred  yards  beyond, 


TREACHERY  AT  HAWARI  175 

the  ridges  of  stones  and  red  sand  rise  sufficiently  to 
allow  one  to  look,  as  it  were,  over  their  edge  on  to 
a  country  of  paler  sand  beyond.  Here  reigned  our 
old  enemy,  the  mirage,  so  it  was  difficult  at  first  to 
distinguish  the  false  from  the  true.  On  the  far  horizon 
loomed  the  purple  hills  of  the  Kufara  Gara.  Some- 
where beyond  those  peaks  and  cliffs  lay  the  mysterious, 
elusive  oasis  that  was  no  near  and  yet  always  just 
beyond  our  reach.  Up  till  that  moment  we  had  con- 
sidered Hawari  as  a  part  of  Kufara,  but  Yusuf,  point- 
ing joyfully  to  a  pale  sand  wave  just  before  the  distant 
hills,  said,  "Do  you  see  the  white  sand?  Before  we 
come  to  that,  below  it,  are  the  palms  of  Hawari,  but 
Kufara  is  'bayid,'  beyond  the  Gebel." 

For  a  couple  of  hours  we  straggled  across  uneven 
country,  dotted  with  rare  patches  of  stones  and  mounds, 
with  ever  more  and  more  tantalising  points  appearing  to 
the  south  till  we  wondered  if  the  mountains  ever  ended. 
Nobody  waits  for  anyone  else  in  the  desert.  Everyone 
walks  at  his  own  favourite  pace.  If  you  cannot  keep  up, 
you  drop  behind  and  your  companion  does  not  stop  to 
ask  the  reason.  If  you  pause  to  shake  the  sand  from  a 
shoe,  he  does  not  halt  with  you.  It  is  against  the  custom, 
unless  you  are  ill.  The  Beduins  often  speak  of  the  long, 
waterless  routes  as  "The  roads  where  we  do  not  wait  for 
a  dying  man.  An  hour  for  a  camel,  two  for  an  Arab, 
then  we  leave  them!" 

At  last  a  stronger  sand  wave  than  most  gave  us  a 
sudden  perfect  view  of  Hawari,  a  long,  very  narrow  strip 
of  palms  running  for  about  12  kilometres  very  nearly 
north  and  south,  with  two  little  isolated  groups  of  palms 
at  the  southern  end.  All  round  it  lay  a  band  of  very 
red  sand,  broken  into  thousands  of  small  mounds  of 
"hattab,"  the  little  dry  sticks  we  had  seen  before.  A 
;hird  naga  started  to  foal,  but  we  ruthlessly  left  her  to 


176   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

the  care  of  Abdul  Hafiz  and  pressed  on,  so  that  we 
entered  the  oasis  at  3  P.M. 

Against  the  wallflower  sands  the  thick,  low-growing, 
heavy-foliaged  palms  looked  almost  grey.  There  were 
few  tall  ones,  so  it  was  easy  to  cut  great  clusters  of  yellow 
dates,  which  were  very  sweet  and  tasted  of  honey.  I  did 
not  like  them  very  much.  The  retinue  began  to  panic 
frantically,  chiefly  because  a  group  of  blacks  we  passed 
cutting  dates  amidst  a  picturesque  circle  of  goats  and 
blue-robed  women,  asked,  "Where  is  the  caravan  with 
the  Christian?  The  Bazamas  sent  news  of  it." 

We  went  straight  across  the  southern  end  of  the  oasis 
to  the  palm  gardens  of  the  Sayed,  which  were  kept  in 
excellent  order  with  neat  leaf  fences,  many  wells,  rows 
of  newly  planted  young  palms  and  continuous  patches 
of  vegetables,  brightest  green  amidst  the  monotonous 
brick-red  sands.  The  whole  of  this  portion  of  the  oasis 
was  inhabited  by  the  Sayed's  slaves  and  we  saw  numbers 
of  blacks,  men,  women  and  children,  working  in  the 
gardens  or  driving  small,  pale  grey  donkeys  laden  with 
dates.  We  camped  on  the  edge  of  the  village  and  Abdul 
Rahim  nearly  had  a  fit  when  he  saw  me  wander  off  to 
photograph  the  houses,  gleaming  white  between  the 
palms.  He  ran  after  me  almost  foaming  with  terror. 
The  general  state  of  nerves  was  beginning  to  get  boring. 

The  houses  of  Hawari  are  almost  like  European 
buildings.  They  are  exceedingly  well  constructed  of 
sand  bricks  in  regular  lines,  square,  solid,  flat-roofed, 
with  windows,  but  many  of  the  yards  have  quite  low 
walls,  all  of  which  are  neatly  coped.  We  had  scarcely 
put  up  the  tent  when  the  sheikh  of  the  zawia,  Musa 
Squaireen,  arrived  to  inquire  our  business.  He  was  soon 
followed  by  the  leading  Zouia  headmen,  among  them 
Musa  Gharibeel  and  Mansur  Bu  Badr  of  the  Gebail. 
Soon  a  circle  of  a  dozen  were  sitting  round  our  hastily 


GARDENS    AND    LAKE    AT    BUSEIMA 


THE    AUTHOB    6jf    A    CAMEL   AT  BUSEIMA 


ZOUIA   WOMEN   AT  BUSEIMA 


AT  BUSEIMA:    TKACIIIXG  THE  FAQBUX  FAMILY  TO 
T7SE  FIELD  GLASSES 


TREACHERY  AT  HAWARI  177 

built  zariba,  while  Mohammed's  faithful  follower,  Omar, 
hurriedly  made  coffee.  The  tribesmen  were  slightly 
depressed  at  first  and  we  wondered  if  it  had  anything 
to  do  with  our  arrival,  until  it  appeared  that  one  man 
had  made  a  bad  bargain  in  buying  slaves  from  a  Wadai 
caravan  a  few  days  before.  He  had  paid  400  mejidies 
(about  £70)  for  a  man  and  two  women,  and  now  the  man 
was  very  ill.  "It  was  bad  business,"  he  said  sadly.  They 
all  repeated  the  same  formula,  "The  Sayed's  orders  are 
above  our  heads,"  and  added  that  our  visit  was  welcome, 
saying,  "Your  coming  is  a  blessing.  May  Allah  bless 
our  Sayeds  and  those  who  come  from  them!"  Yet 
Abdul  Rahim  started  the  rumour  that  night  that  we  were 
prisoners  and  were  not  to  be  allowed  to  move  till 
permission  arrived  from  Kufara. 

We  were  too  sleepy  to  inquire  into  the  truth,  but  the 
following  morning  gifts  of  sour  leban  and  milk  arrived, 
together  with  a  couple  of  chickens,  so  we  thought  that 
probably  the  Zouias,  while  paying  all  honour  to  the 
Sayed's  guests,  were  anxious  to  show  how  impossible  it 
was  for  strangers  to  penetrate  their  well-guarded  borders. 
Yusuf  and  Mohammed  implored  us  not  to  move  from  the 
camp,  which  they  had  pitched  in  an  unsheltered,  torridly 
hot  and  fly-ridden  spot  to  avoid  robbers  in  the  palm 
groves.  "Wait  till  the  big  men  come  to  see  us,"  they 
said.  "Then  you  can  walk  with  safety."  This  was 
palpably  an  excuse,  for  Hawari  is  only  a  little  village 
suffering  from  its  nearness  to  a  big  centre.  The  whole 
life  of  the  country  depends  on  the  town  beyond  the 
mountains.  The  big  sheikhs  and  ekhwan  live  in  Jof  and 
Taj.  In  Clapham  or  Tooting  one  does  not  expect  to 
find  Ministers  of  the  Crown.  So  in  Hawari  everyone 
says,  "There  is  nothing  here.  All  things  come  from 
Kufara."  The  important  sheikh  of  the  place,  Bush  Naf, 
was  at  the  moment  in  Jof.  For  this  reason  we  had  sent 


178   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

on  Abdullah  as  a  herald  of  our  coming  to  present  our 
credentials  to  Sidi  Idris's  wakil  and  to  prepare  a  dwelling 
for  us  in  Taj. 

That  morning  we  over-ate  on  eggs,  dates,  fresh  bread 
made  with  yeast — oh,  but  it  tasted  good — and  goat's 
milk.  Then,  while  Hassanein  lazed — he  called  it  absorb- 
ing the  spirit  of  the  desert — I  hid  two  kodaks  in  the  folds 
of  my  voluminous  barracan,  veiled  my  unfortunately 
white  skin  and  went  off  to  explore  the  town.  The  cor- 
poral and  the  largest  Farraj  offered  to  escort  me,  but  they 
were  not  happy  till  they  realised  how  little  interest  we 
aroused.  We  saw  many  well-kept  gardens  wherein  grew 
vegetables,  peaches,  barley,  thorn-tree  figs.  In  each  of 
them  were  one  or  two  Sudanese  working  the  primitive* 
wells,  sometimes  with  the  aid  of  the  delightful  little  grey 
donkeys,  the  cleanest  things  I  had  seen  in  Libya.  We 
walked  all  through  the  village,  encountering  no  oppo- 
sition, but  of  subjects  for  photographs  there  were  few. 
The  big,  square  houses,  with  their  complicated  yards  and 
outbuildings,  were  dotted  here  and  there  among  the 
scattered  palms  or  over  the  broad  bare  spaces  of  sand. 
There  were  no  winding  streets  or  passages  as  in  Jalo  and 
Aujela.  A  small,  insignificant  mosque,  a  low,  square 
building  with  a  row  of  windows,  a  little  zawia  established 
by  the  great  Sidi  el  Mahdi,  with  a  "qubba"  that  looked 
rather  like  a  horse  trough  with  an  upright  stone  at  each 
end  (a  former  muezzin  of  the  zawia),  made  a  group  at 
one  end  of  the  village.  We  climbed  one  of  the  vermilion 
dunes,  half -covered  with  the  feathery  grey  bushes  we  had 
first  met  at  El  Atash,  in  order  to  get  a  better  view  for 
a  photograph,  but  the  scattered  houses  were  too  far  away. 

On  our  return  we  passed  one  or  two  buildings  with 
mud  porticoes,  whose  arches  could  be  seen  above  the  walls 
of  their  yards.  Some  women  came  out  to  talk  to  me 
in  high,  clear  voices.  They  were  practically  unveiled  and 


TREACHERY  AT  HAWARI  179 

wore  straight,  dark  red  tobhs,  unbelted,  so  they  made 
an  attractive  group  under  a  large  thorn-tree  between  high 
sand  walls.  One  and  all  they  asked  for  medicine,  and 
when  I  returned  to  my  fly-filled  tent  a  group  gradually 
gathered  outside  with  various  tales  of  woe.  The  most 
important  entered  and  sat  uncomfortably  on  my  folding 
bed,  from  which  they  soon  slipped  thankfully  to  their 
accustomed  crouched-up  position  on  the  sand.  My  treat- 
ments were  simple,  consisting  chiefly  of  boracic  powder 
and  quinine,  but  the  recipients  tied  the  pills  carefully  into 
corners  of  their  barracans  and  departed  with  blessings. 

Suddenly  a  blaze  of  colour  obstructed  the  view  beyond 
my  tent  flap.  The  smallest  of  the  grey  donkeys,  almost 
covered  with  a  gorgeous  striped  mat  of  reds  and  blues, 
and  still  further  obscured  by  the  voluminous  draperies  of 
a  small,  huddled  figure  in  the  vividest  scarlet  I  have  ever 
seen,  was  led  up  by  a  tiny  urchin  in  a  tattered  white 
shirt,  while  another  beat  from  behind.  "The  mother  of 
Sheikh  Musa  has  come  to  visit  you,"  announced  one  of 
the  Farrajes.  The  flaming  folds  disengaged  themselves, 
trailed  into  the  tent  and  crumbled  into  a  red  heap  on 
the  sand,  from  which  emerged  the  oldest,  frailest  Arab 
woman  I  have  ever  met.  She  was  bent  and  wrinkled 
beyond  belief,  toothless  and  almost  blind,  yet  she  carried 
on  an  interested  conversation  about  the  Sayeds  and  finally 
offered  me  a  Moslem  rosary  blessed  by  Sidi  el  Mahdi. 

As  the  heat  was  terrific  I  was  glad  when  the  visit 
came  to  an  end  and  only  wished  we  had  fixed  our 
departure  for  that  afternoon  instead  of  for  the  next 
morning.  Hassanein  suggested  our  wandering  down  to 
the  other  end  of  the  oasis  where  there  is  another  small 
village,  Hawawiri.  We  borrowed  a  donkey  from  the 
reluctant  sheikh  el-zawia,  who  told  us  we  should  be  killed 
before  we  were  out  of  sight  of  the  belad,  and  called  for 
a  guide  to  show  us  the  way.  At  that  moment  there  were 


180   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

half  a  dozen  Zouias  seated  round  our  zariba,  but  none  of 
them  moved.  I  began  to  understand  the  sufferings  of 
Rohlfs  when  I  looked  at  the  cruel,  anaemic  faces  of  these 
Arabs.  Brave  they  may  be,  but  they  had  not  the  keen, 
fierce  looks  of  the  warrior  Beduin.  They  had  small, 
cunning  eyes  that  shifted  restlessly,  long,  mean  faces  with 
thin  lips  and  generally  a  fretful  scowl  between  the  brows. 
The  Zouias  are  known  as  a  bad  tribe  and  these  people 
certainly  looked  untrustworthy  to  the  last  degree.  When 
we  offered  a  bribe  of  tea  and  sugar  one  of  them  got  up 
to  accompany  us,  but  none  of  the  soldiers  would  come. 
Moraja  and  Abdul  Rahim  hid  in  their  tent  and  Yusuf 
said  he  was  lame.  We  were  just  starting  off  alone  when 
Mohammed  sprang  up  and  slung  on  his  gun.  "They 
are  a  pair  of  eagles!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  will  not  be  less 
brave  than  they."  After  we  had  gone  a  few  hundred 
yards  there  was  a  soft  thud-thudding  in  the  sand  behind, 
and  the  big  Farraj,  who  had  become  our  sort  of  personal 
slave,  together  with  the  corporal,  silently  joined  us. 

Our  progress,  however,  was  almost  instantly  stopped 
by  a  band  of  young  men  and  boys  rushing  wildly  after  us. 
"Do  not  walk!  Do  not  walk!"  they  yelled,  and  pointed 
to  a  large  group  of  white-clad  Arabs  marching  rapidly 
towards  us.  We  turned  to  meet  them.  "For  God's 
sake  do  not  go!"  said  Mohammed.  "There  is  bad  work 
here.  I  do  not  understand  it.  Let  us  go  back  to  the 
camp!"  He  followed  gamely,  however.  The  Arabs 
were  all  armed  and  they  looked  very  angry,  for  they  were 
gesticulating  and  talking  in  loud  voices.  I  always  wore 
my  revolvers  underneath  my  hezaam.  I  managed  to  get 
them  out  under  the  folds  of  my  barracan  and  wondered 
with  an  odd,  fierce  pleasure  how  many  shots  I  could  get 
in.  The  corporal  pretended  to  busy  himself  with  the 
donkey,  but  our  Farraj  came  on,  his  rifle  ready.  The 
Zouias  surrounded  us,  a  wild,  threatening  group.  "You 


TREACHERY  AT  HAWARI  181 

shall  not  move  from  here  till  orders  come  from  Jof!" 
they  shouted.  "We  have  been  warned  about  you.  We 
know.  No  strangers  shall  come  to  our  country.  They 
die  quickly  here!"  Hassanein  suddenly  had  one  of  his 
inspirations.  "You  wish  to  show  that  you  are  brave  and 
will  defend  your  country  to  the  last,  but  you  should 
behave  thus  to  strangers,  not  to  the  guests  of  the 
Sayed!"  he  said  angrily.  They  were  puzzled.  They 
expected  us  to  be  frightened  and  impressed.  Instead, 
we  were  angrier  than  they.  If  you  can  make  an  Arab 
talk  he  generally  forgets  to  fire. 

While  loudly  arguing  we  led  the  way  to  the  camp 
and  soon  there  was  a  large  "megliss"  seated  outside  our 
tent.  Some  Tebus  joined  the  Zouias.  They  were  coal- 
black  like  the  Sudani  slaves,  but  with  more  refined  and 
intelligent  faces.  Most  of  them  do  not  talk  Arabic,  but 
their  head  man  explained  the  situation  to  them  and  to 
our  surprise  they  ranged  themselves  on  our  side.  "The 
guests  of  the  Sayed  are  welcome  to  our  country,"  they 
said.  The  Zouias,  headed  by  Bu  Badr,  were  angrier  than 
ever.  "Why  does  not  a  messenger  come  from  Jof?" 
they  asked.  "Sidi  Abdullah  went  last  night  and  he 
promised  to  send  back  news.  We  told  him  you  should 
not  follow  until  permission  came." 

We  looked  blanky  at  each  other.  We  had  not  told 
the  guide  to  send  back  a  messenger,  and  he  had  breathed 
no  word  to  us  of  such  intention,  nor  of  his  tribesmen's 
threats.  "It  is  a  plot,"  said  I  grimly.  "Yes,  but 

where,  why ?"  murmured  Hassanein  vaguely. 

Mohammed  leaned  forward  triumphantly.  His  eyes 
shone,  his  voice  was  strong.  I  think  in  that  moment  he 
recovered  his  self-respect  and  we  our  old  ally.  "I  under- 
stand it  all,"  he  cried.  "Wallahi!  I  will  never  stroke 
my  beard  again  till  I  have  settled  with  Abdullah  who  has 
betrayed  us.  You  men  of  Hawari,  you  are  fools  and  you 


182   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

have  insulted  the  Sayed's  guests  because  you  are  like  the 
foolish  woman  in  the  suq  who  buys  the  first  thing  that  is 
offered  to  her!"  He  whispered  to  Hassanein  in  Arabic 
too  rapid  for  my  comprehension,  "By  Allah,  hear  and 
believe,  for  I  speak  the  truth!"  shouted  the  latter  above 
the  babel  of  angry  voices.  Even  Sheikh  Zarrug  of  the 
Hawaij  ceased  from  exclaiming  that  if  no  messenger 
came  from  Jof  on  the  morrow  the  Zouias  would  know  that 
we  had  deceived  them  and  it  would  go  hard  with  us. 
"You  get  no  news  here  and  you  believe  the  first-comer," 
continued  Hassanein.  "Abdullah  told  you  that  you  must 
prove  to  the  strangers  that  you  were  brave  and  strong  lest 
they  think  that  anyone  can  enter  your  country  easily.  Is 
it  not  so?"  They  acknowledged  uneasily,  some  ever 
with  crooked  smiles,  that  this  was  the  case.  Then  they 
remembered  the  point  which  changed  a  bluff  meant  to 
impress  strangers  into  a  grim  reality.  "Abdullah  was  to 
send  back  a  messenger  if  the  ekhwan  approved  of  your 
letter  and  would  receive  you.  It  is  a  short  journey  and 
none  has  come." 

At  these  words  smiles  vanished  and  the  pale,  cruel 
faces  grew  more  cunning  and  suspicious.  The  Tebus 
grouped  themselves  behind  us.  It  might  be  a  good  battle, 
I  thought,  and  wondered  if  the  Zouia  rifles  were  modern. 
A  fight  is  always  stimulating  and  not  like  that  awful, 
helpless  day  of  thirst  when  one  could  not  war  with  nature ! 
"Of  course,  no  messenger  has  come,"  said  Hassanein 
triumphantly.  "None  will.  You  have  been  fooled  and 
so  have  we.  To-morrow  you  would  have  prevented  our 
going.  There  would  have  been  a  fight.  You  are  brave 
but  so  are  the  slaves  of  the  Sayed.  Perhaps  his  guests 
would  have  been  killed  and  Abdullah  would  have  been 
saved.  Do  you  know  why?"  Then  followed  the  story  of  the 
guide  who  had  lost  his  head  and  his  reputation  at  the  same 
time  and  I  suddenly  grasped  Abdullah's  neat  little  plot. 


TREACHERY  AT  HAWARI  183 

If  none  of  the  caravan  returned  to  Jedabia,  or  even 
if  the  two  strangers,  chief  witnesses  against  him,  dis- 
appeared, he  would  be  saved.  He  knew  full  well  that  no 
one  would  employ  him  as  a  guide  after  the  story  of  his 
Taiserbo  mistake  became  known.  His  future  depended 
on  our  lips  being  sealed.  His  best  chance  lay  amongst  his 
suspicious  Zouia  kinsmen,  always  distrustful  of  strangers, 
fanatical  and  warlike,  yet  the  caravan  could  not  be 
attacked  while  he  was  with  it.  Therefore  he  suggested 
going  to  prepare  the  way  for  us  at  Taj.  When  we  agreed, 
it  was  easy  to  arouse  the  amour  propre  and  suspicions 
of  the  Hawari  Zouias.  "Show  your  courage  by  not 
letting  these  doubtful  strangers  cross  the  borders  of  your 
land.  If  their  story  is  true  and  the  sheikhs  of  Jof  will 
receive  them,  I  will  send  back  a  messenger."  He  had 
never  the  slightest  intention  of  dispatching  anyone  to 
rescue  us  from  the  ever-growing  hostility  at  Hawari,  and 
he  calculated  that  in  a  day  or  two  we  should  make  an 
attempt  to  escape  and  be  promptly  fired  upon.  The  blacks 
would  be  obliged  to  defend  us  and,  after  the  general  car- 
nage, the  story  of  his  failure  would  be  buried  with  the  slain. 
Mohammed  having  discovered  the  plot,  Hassanein 
rose  nobly  to  the  occasion.  His  words  poured  forth  with 
all  the  subtle  rhetoric  that  sways  the  Beduin  mind  and 
when  their  brains  were  steeped  in  this  river  of  speech 
he  suddenly  flung  down  Sidi  Idris's  letter.  "Do  you 
wait  for  orders  from  Jof  when  your  Sayed  sends  us  here? 
Is  this  the  insult  that  you  pay  him  when  he  trusted  you 
to  help  his  guests?"  There  was  an  uncomfortable  pause. 
The  shifty  eyes  of  the  circle  would  not  meet  ours. 
Sheikh  Saad,  the  feki  of  the  town,  who  had  been  the 
spokesman  against  us,  murmured  incoherent  words. 
Mansur  Bu  Badr  sent  hastily  for  a  sheep.  The  group 
began  to  split  into  twos  and  threes.  A  party  was  forming 
in  our  favour.  Musa  Gharibeel  exclaimed,  "He  is  speak- 


184  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

ing  the  truth.  We  have  made  a  mistake."  For  at  least 
an  hour  arguments  raged  on  every  side,  but  we  ignored 
them  and  planned  low-voiced  revenge  with  Mohammed 
in  the  tent.  It  was  delightful  to  see  how  the  man  had 
taken  hold  again.  "Wallahi,"  he  repeated  five  times 
running.  "May  I  never  see  my  wife  again  if  Abdullah 
does  not  get  his  reward  from  the  Sayed!" 

From  the  pleasant  task  of  plotting  the  guide's  down- 
fall we  were  summoned  by  a  smiling  Yusuf.  "Your 
words  are  flames,"  he  said  to  Hassanein.  "The  people 
are  feeling  very  foolish  and  they  regret  what  they  have 
done."  I  felt  it  was  Hassanein's  triumph,  so  left  him 
to  receive  the  apologies  of  the  Zouias  with  condescending 
coldness,  but  even  this  did  not  content  them.  Musa 
Gharibeel  and  Bu  Badr  insisted  on  wishing  me  personally 
a  good  journey  on  the  morrow.  "I  shall  be  glad  to  rest 
in  the  house  of  Sidi  Idris,"  I  said  coldly.  "He  told  me 
it  would  be  an  easy  journey,  but  I  think  he  has  been 
mistaken."  The  Zouias  were  silent. 

Yusuf  told  me  afterwards  that  Abdullah  had  insisted 
that  the  caravan  was  to  follow  him  to  Jof  the  next  day 
without  waiting  for  any  news  from  Kufara.  To  make 
things  quite  certain  he  had  told  the  men  of  Hawari  that 
we  were  looking  for  gold  in  the  mountains  and  we  would 
return  with  an  army  to  conquer  the  land  and  take  the 
treasure  it  contained! 

When  it  was  dark  the  slave-girls,  Zeinab  and  Hauwa, 
crept  into  my  tent.  "We  thought  we  should  all  die 
to-day,  but  now  we  are  happy.  The  people  are  bad  here, 
but  we  have  been  saved!"  they  said.  Our  greatest 
triumph,  however,  was  the  moment  when  a  very  meek 
Zouia  deputation  woke  us  up  to  ask  us  if  we  would  care 
to  go  to  Hawawiri  on  our  way  to  Kufara  on  the  morrow. 
They  dared  not  approach  the  tent  themselves,  so  sent 
Yusuf  to  offer  their  olive  branch. 


CHAPTER  X 

FEASTS  IN  THE  HOLY  PLACE 

JANUARY  13,  therefore,  should  have  seen  the 
successful  termination  of  our  long  journey,  instead 
of  which  it  saw  us  prisoners  in  earnest  until  a 
furiously  ridden  white  donkey  appeared  on  the  horizon, 
amidst  a  whirl  of  tarboush  tassel,  rifle  and  long  legs 
ending  in  bright  yellow  slippers,  each  swinging  wildly  at 
different  angles.  All  this  because  Abdullah  over-reached 
himself.  In  order  to  make  our  destruction  certain  he 
went  to  the  kaimakaan  at  Jof  and  warned  him  that  we 
were  two  Christians  from  Italy  disguised  as  Moslems  and 
that  we  were  learning  all  about  the  country  in  order  to 
conquer  it  later  on.  "It  is  impossible,"  said  that  official 
loyally.  "They  have  letters  from  the  Sayeds."  "What 
is  writing?"  said  Abdullah.  "They  have  cheated  the 
Sayeds,  I  tell  you.  Ever  since  they  left  they  have  been 
secretly  making  maps.  They  had  watches  on  the  feet  of 
the  camels,  and  the  Sitt  held  a  watch  in  her  hand  all  the 
time  [my  compass].  They  hang  a  strange  thing  on  their 
tent — a  weapon  to  kill  us  if  we  come  near  [the  barom- 
eter] and  they  have  spectacles  which  make  the  country 
look  big  while  it  is  far  away."  He  drew  such  lurid  pic- 
tures of  our  nefarious  designs  that  the  kaimakaan  was 
determined  at  all  costs  to  protect  his  beloved  Sayeds  from 
the  consequences  of  their  mistake.  "They  must  not 
leave  Hawari,"  he  said  firmly.  "In  a  few  days  they 
must  go  back.  The  honour  of  our  princes  will  thus  be 
saved."  Abdullah  agreed  warmly,  believing  that  in  a 

185 


186   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

few  days  what  was  left  of  us  would  hardly  be  worth  send- 
ing back!  Then  the  blow  fell.  "You  must  take  an  order 
at  once  to  Yusuf  and  Mohammed  Quemish."  In  vain 
the  guide  protested,  pleaded,  argued.  The  kaimakaan 
was  firm.  It  was  then  the  afternoon  and  there  was  plenty 
of  time  to  reach  Hawari  before  night.  The  energetic 
official  hustled  Abdullah  out  of  the  town  and  the  plotter 
saw  his  neat  little  plan  for  our  destruction  in  jeopardy. 

He  knew  that  Mohammed  was  intelligent  and  that 
Yusuf  was  known  to  many  people  in  Kufara.  Both  were 
loyal.  Therefore,  unless  we  were  killed  fairly  quickly, 
in  the  general  inquiry  his  own  perfidy  would  come  to 
light.  He  had  meant  to  ensure  that  we  were  not  imme- 
diately invited  to  Jof.  He  had  no  desire  to  return  to  us 
even  with  an  order  for  our  detention,  for  though  it  might 
make  things  uncomfortable  for  us  temporarily,  in  the 
long  run  he  was  bound  to  suffer.  Therefore  he  spent  the 
night  in  the  mountains  and  only  arrived  at  our  camp  at 
9  o'clock,  hoping  that  by  this  time  we  should  have  come 
to  blows  with  the  Zouias,  for  he  had  particularly  in- 
structed Yusuf  to  start  off  with  the  caravan  at  dawn. 

I  do  not  know  which  was  more  aghast  at  seeing  the 
other,  Abdullah  or  I!  At  that  moment,  of  course,  I 
knew  nothing  of  his  work  at  Kufara.  I  only  felt  that 
we  had  jumped  to  wrong  conclusions  the  preceding  day 
and  when,  with  restless  eyes  downcast,  he  murmured  that 
we  could  not  leave  Hawari  yet  as  they  were  preparing  a 
house  for  us  in  Jof  which  would  not  be  ready  for  several 
days,  but  that  the  slave-girls  were  to  go  on  at  once,  I 
felt  that  something  was  seriously  wrong.  He  tried  to 
avoid  presenting  the  note  to  Yusuf  and  Mohammed  in 
front  of  me,  but  I  would  not  leave  him,  so  the  paper, 
which  was  presumably  meant  to  be  private,  was  read 
before  me.  It  ran,  "You  will  see  that  you  do  not 
stir  from  Hawari  until  you  receive  further  orders." 


FEASTS  IN  THE  HOLY  PLACE         187 

Abdullah  murmured  something  incoherent  about  going 
to  the  village  and  the  remark  galvanised  me  into  action. 
Once  the  Zouias  knew  of  that  message  we  should  be 
prisoners.  It,  therefore,  behoved  us  to  send  someone 
reliable  to  Taj  to  find  out  what  had  happened  before  the 
suspicious  tribesmen  set  a  guard  round  our  camp. 
Mohammed  was  the  only  possible  person  and  he  loathed 
the  idea,  for  had  he  not  the  written  order  of  the  Sayed's 
wakil  that  he  was  not  to  move?  However,  he  yielded  to 
persuasion.  Perhaps  the  long  miles  trudged  side  by  side 
through  hot  sands  under  a  hotter  sun,  the  precious  water 
shared,  the  jokes  over  our  aching  feet,  the  first  cold  nights 
when  we  had  divided  our  blankets  and  coats,  above  all, 
the  day  we  had  torn  up  the  baggage  saddles  together  and 
distributed  the  straw  to  our  starving  animals  with  little 
hope  that  we  could  ever  provide  them  with  another  meal, 
all  bore  fruit.  "Wallahi!"  he  swore.  "I  shall  discover 
the  truth."  Abdullah  almost  lost  his  self-control.  He 
burst  into  the  tent  with  the  cowardly  Abdul  Rahim,  while 
Hassanein  was  penning  a  tactful  letter  to  the  kaimakaan. 
Angry  protests  flowed  from  his  lips.  He  threatened  to 
fetch  the  Zouias.  The  little  commandant  stuttered  feeble 
futilities.  Mohammed  wavered. 

At  that  moment  I  saw  the  dream  of  so  many  scorch- 
ing days  and  weary  nights  fading  like  the  mirage  of  noon. 
The  object  I  had  striven  for,  laboured  for,  for  which  I 
had  studied  Arabic  during  gay  London  summers,  for 
which  I  had  plotted  in  Cyrenaica,  for  which  I  had  pored 
over  route  maps  and  charts  from  Khartoum  to  Tripoli, 
for  which  I  had  waded  through  ponderous  tomes  from 
Ptolemy  to  Behm  and  Duveyrier,  balanced  trembling  in 
the  scale  of  this  man's  mind.  Every  nerve  and  sinew, 
still  aching  from  our  almost  intolerable  journey,  spoke  of 
the  strenuous  effort  made.  Surely  this  must  weigh 
heavier  than  Abdullah's  guile.  It  did!  Somehow  the 


188  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

dark-faced  guide,  the  cringing  commandant,  ceased  to 
exist.  Hassanein  called  for  a  donkey  for  our  messenger 
and  pushed  the  cleverly  worded  letter  into  his  wallet. 
Then  for  a  moment  Mohammed  and  I  were  face  to  face, 
and  I  looked  straight  into  his  keen,  boyish  eyes,  wringing 
his  hand  with  a  few  words  of  intense  confidence  and  knew 
instantly  that  he  would  not,  could  not,  fail  us! 

Thereafter  it  did  not  matter  that  we  could  not 
leave  the  camp,  that  Abdullah's  face  was  thunderous, 
that  the  soldiers  hid  in  their  tents  with  the  exception  of 
the  large,  faithful  Farraj,  who  offered  me  pathetic  little 
gifts  every  hour  to  cheer  me  up,  raw  onions,  parsnips 
and  dry  cut  grass  which  makes  a  kind  of  liquid 
spinach !  I  had  to  pretend  to  be  ill  and  lie  on  my  bed  all 
day  behind  the  harem  curtain  to  escape  the  distrustful 
Zouias,  who  peered  into  the  tent  every  two  or  three 
minutes  to  see  that  we  had  not  escaped.  It  was  a  dis- 
tinctly trying  time,  for  angry  councils  were  held  at 
intervals  outside  the  camp,  but  we  were  not  invited  to 
attend  them  and  the  friendly  Tebus  were  absent,  though 
once  a  bronze  maiden  with  wide  brown  eyes,  a  cheery 
smile  and  a  large  white  pea-nut  stuck  in  a  hole  in  her 
nostril,  crept  to  my  guarded  quarters  and  offered  me 
four  eggs  with  many  kindly  "Keif  halak." 

In  the  sunset  came  Mohammed,  smiling,  triumphant, 
breathless,  having  ridden  20  kilometres  to  Taj  over 
a  strange  country  he  had  never  seen  before,  without  track 
or  guiding  mark,  argued  with  a  justly  suspicious  kaima- 
kaan  anxious  to  defend  the  prestige  of  his  princes,  con- 
vinced him  of  our  good  faith,  learned  the  whole  story  of 
Abdullah's  treachery,  remounted  his  white  donkey  and 
plodded  back  over  the  rough  sands  to  our  rescue — all  in 
eight  hours.  Certainly  Mohammed  justified  that  day  my 
long-established  faith  in  the  Beduin  race  and  their  future. 
He  brought  a  letter  of  enthusiastic  welcome  to  "their 


FEASTS  IN  THE  HOLY  PLACE        189 

Excellencies  the  honoured  guests  of  the  Sayeds,"  asking 
them  to  proceed  to  Kufara  on  the  morrow  and  to  bring 
blessings  and  honour  to  the  town  by  their  presence 
therein. 

The  mentality  of  Libya  is  as  changeable  as  its 
barometer.  That  night,  the  men  who  had  wished  to  kill 
us  a  few  hours  before,  sat  amiably  round  our  camp  fire 
and  actually  told  us  of  their  own  accord  the  stories  that 
had  preceded  our  coming.  They  varied  extremely,  for 
whereas  most  of  them  put  us  down  as  the  heralds  of  a 
conquering  army  one  said  we  were  cousins  of  Rohlf s  who 
had  come  to  make  inquiries  as  to  his  treatment.  "I 
remember  that  Nasrani  well,"  said  old  Zarrug.  "He 
came  with  a  Zouia  caravan."  "How  many  other 
Xasrani  were  with  him?"  we  asked,  remembering  the 
Buseima  tale  that  on  his  return,  at  least,  the  German  was 
alone.  "There  were  none.  He  came  alone  with  his  big 
horse  and  a  cook  called  Ali."  The  sheikh  was  quite 
definite  on  this  point.  He  told  us  that  "Mustapha  Bey" 
had  gone  to  Hawawiri  to  avoid  the  larger  village  and 
then,  skirting  to  the  east  of  the  Kufara  dunes  and  hills, 
had  camped  outside  Boema,  where  he  was  promptly 
made  a  prisoner. 

January  14  produced  about  the  most  unpleasant 
specimen  of  desert  climate.  The  sun,-  no  doubt,  was  hot, 
but  a  cold,  strong  wind  blew  from  the  east,  raising 
clouds  of  sand  and  making  progress  difficult.  Neverthe- 
less, we  sent  the  caravan  direct  to  Kufara  and  ourselves 
started  for  Hawawiri.  The  Zouias  meekly  allowed  us 
to  go  anywhere  we  liked,  but  they  did  suggest  that 
perhaps  we  were  tiring  ourselves  unnecessarily,  for 
there  were  only  three  houses  in  the  farther  oasis,  as  all 
the  palms  were  owned  by  people  in  Jof  and  Boema. 
However,  we  felt  we  had  to  visit  the  place  as  a  lesson 
to  the  soldiers,  who  had  refused  to  accompany  us  the 


190  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

previous  day.  Therefore,  muffled  to  the  eyes  in  the 
thickest  blankets  and  jerds  we  could  find,  astride  two 
minute,  barebacked  donkeys,  we  plunged  into  the  east 
wind  and  laboured  down  the  whole  length  of  the  narrow 
Hawari  oasis. 

The  village  of  our  captivity  proved  to  be  unexpectedly 
large,  for  more  houses  were  scattered  continually  along 
the  strip  of  palms.  When  we  asked  the  number  of 
inhabitants,  the  only  reply  was  the  one  word  which 
denotes  any  form  of  size,  long,  big,  great,  powerful, 
plenty,  numerous,  etc.,  "wajid" — but  I  imagine  that 
there  must  be  a  population  of  two  hundred  or  more. 
There  was  a  gap  between  the  palms  of  Hawari  and  those 
of  its  little  companion,  which  was  only  a  few  square 
kilometres  in  size,  and  whose  three  houses  were  sur- 
rounded by  a  few  huge  fig-trees.  The  figs  were  nearly 
att"  small  and  hard,  but  the  villainous-looking  Zouia, 
brown-haired  and  green-eyed,  with  very  low  brow  and 
narrow  skull,  who  accompanied  us,  knocked  down  a  few 
little  purple  ones  from  the  top.  They  were  very  good 
and  comforted  us  for  the  awful  wind,  which  froze  us 
even  at  midday,  as  we  tramped  over  the  stony  gherds 
that  lie  on  the  way  to  Kufara. 

The  red  sand  continued,  mixed  with  more  and  more 
patches  of  black  stones,  while  little  rocky  ridges  rose 
into  low  dark  hills  or  big  mounds,  increasing  in  size  after 
Hawari  was  lost  to  sight  beside  her  vermilion  gherds. 
Each  time  that  we  mounted  a  faint  ridge  and  saw  black 
hills  in  front  of  us  we  said,  "Those  are  the  last — behind 
those  is  the  secret  of  the  desert."  A  dozen  times  we 
were  disappointed  as  a  further  waste  of  stones  and  rock 
obscured  our  vision.  Finally,  when  from  quite  a  high 
hillock  we  saw  nothing  but  mounds  and  low  hills  where 
the  boulders  had  almost  conquered  the  red  sands,  we 
began  to  wonder  if  Kufara  were  a  huge  joke  by  which 


FEASTS  IN  THE  HOLY  PLACE        191 

the  African  mind  retaliated  on  European  curiosity.  By 
every  map  the  oasis  is  a  solid  flat  block  of  green  just 
beyond  the  Gara  of  Hawaii  and  we  had  already  walked 
35  kilometres  at  least  beyond  that  imposing  cliff  and 
apparently  could  see  half  as  far  again  in  front  with  not 
a  sign  of  a  palm.  "Look!  The  sand  begins  again  on 
the  horizon,"  I  said.  "It  is  much  paler  and  there  are 
more  hills."  "If  Kufara  is  beyond  those,  I  shall  give 
up  and  send  home  for  an  aeroplane,"  answered  my 
companion  firmly. 

Thereafter  we  covered  our  faces  in  our  jerds  and 
struggled  on  blindly,  so  that  the  Sahara  gave  us  her 
secret  suddenly  and  when  we  saw  one  of  the  most 
wonderful  views  in  the  world  spread  almost  at  our  feet, 
we  first  blinked  and  rubbed  our  eyes  to  see  if  we  were 
asleep  and  then  cursed  ourselves  as  fools  for  not  having 
guessed  that  the  explanation  of  the  mystery  was — a  wadi ! 

For  this  reason  one  almost  falls  over  the  edge  of  the 
last  black  cliff  into  the  soft  pale  sand  of  the  oasis  before 
one  realises  it  is  there.  They  say  anticipation  is  better 
than  realisation.  They  say  that  success  is  tasteless  and 
that  it  is  only  the  fight  which  thrills,  but  I  am  no£ 
ashamed  to  confess  my  excitement  when  a  whole  new 
world  seemed  to  be  revealed  to  me.  To  the  east  where 
the  cliffs  ran  out  a  little,  the  sacrosanct  village  of  Taj 
perched  clear-cut  against  the  sky,  high  above  the  oasis 
it  guarded.  The  massive  block  of  the  zawia  rose  above 
the  group  of  strong,  dark  houses,  square,  solid,  all  built 
of  blocks  of  black  stone  with  red  sand  mortar.  The  end- 
less blind  walls  gave  away  no  secrets,  but  here  and  there 
within  the  courts  rose  the  triple  arched  porches  of  some 
big  dwelling  and  already  there  were  blotches  of  white 
that  told  of  watchers  for  our  arrival. 

This  is  the  holy  place  of  the  Senussi,  where  are  the 
houses  of  the  Sayeds  and  the  blessed  qubba  of  Sidi  el- 


192   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

Mahdi,  with  clustering  colleges  and  mosque  all  looking 
like  grim  fortresses,  for  Taj  boasts  no  blade  of  grass  nor 
speck  of  green  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  black  rock  and 
red  sand.  Below  it,  east  and  west,  runs  a  wide,  flat 
wadi,  its  pale,  faintly  pink  sands  broken  by  a  great  mass 
of  palms  and  green  gardens,  acacias,  figs  and  feathery 
bushes,  all  surrounding  a  curly,  vividly  blue  lake — this  to 
the  west;  while  eastwards  beyond  the  guardian  sanctuary 
on  the  cliff  are  more  dotted  palms  and  then  a  broad  splash 
of  emerald  round  another  lake,  while  the  whole  enchanted 
valley  is  encircled  with  low  amethyst  hills  or  gherds. 
Scattered  here  and  there  upon  the  rose-petal  sand  are 
villages  whose  strong,  dark  walls  look  as  if  fortified 
against  more  formidable  weapons  than  the  peering  eyes 
frustrated  by  their  windowless  secrecy. 

Jof  lies  in  front  by  the  side  of  the  greenest  gardens, 
east  of  the  first  blue  salt  lake.  Beyond  it  Zuruk  is  hidden 
amidst  her  palms.  Tolab  and  Tolelib  are  too  far  away 
to  be  visible,  for  they  lie  at  the  western  end  of  the  oasis, 
where  emerald  and  coral  blur  together  at  the  foot  of  the 
strange  purple  hills.  To  the  east  is  Buma,  on  the  way 
to  the  second  lake,  with  a  smaller  village,  Boema,  close 
beside,  and  beyond  again  more  palms,  till  the  pale  sands 
rise  to  the  dusky  cliffs  that  shut  in  the  secret  oasis  from 
the  south. 

We  gazed  and  gazed  as  if  afraid  the  whole  glorious 
view  might  fade  before  our  sun-burned  eyes  and  leave 
us  lost  in  the  desolate,  dark  waste  that  lay  behind  us. 
Then  suddenly  we  felt  how  very  ill  and  tired  we  all  were, 
for  the  one  well  at  Hawari  to  which  our  suspiciously 
guarded  followers  were  allowed  access  contained  very 
bad  water  and  we  were  all  suffering  strange  pangs. 
"Wallahi!"  said  Mohammed.  "It  is  beautiful  and  I 
am  grateful,  but  how  I  want  to  sleep!"  And  he  wound 
himself  up  in  his  jerd  and  flung  himself  down  on  the 


THE   FOUR  EKHWAN   WHO  RECEIVED  US  AT  TAJ 


HASSAXEIN   BEY  TALKING  TO  EKIIWAX   AT   TAJ    WHILE 
THE    AUTHOR    PHOTOGRAPHED   THEM 


THE    KAIMAKAAX    AT   TAJ 


FEASTS  IN  THE  HOLY  PLACE         193 

nearest  patch  of  sand.  I  followed  suit,  with  a  blanket 
over  my  head  and  one  by  one  the  foremost  of  the  retinue 
sank  down  beside  me,  so  that  when  the  lingering  caravan 
caught  us  up  it  had  to  wake  half  a  dozen  exhausted 
explorers  before  we  could  make  a  dignified  entry  into 
the  Holy  Place. 

Abdullah  came  out  to  meet  us,  for  he  had  taken 
Zeinab  and  Hauwa  the  previous  night  to  Sayed  Rida's 
house,  as  it  was  not  meet  that  the  personal  slaves  of  the 
Sayed  should  be  looked  upon  by  the  people.  He  tried 
one  last  shot  when  he  saw  me  riding  a  camel.  "Get 
down!  Get  down,  Khadija!"  he  shouted  loudly  so  that 
the  interested  group  of  loafers  might  hear.  "You  can- 
not ride  into  this  holy  place!"  We  were  still  nearly 
half  a  mile  from  the  nearest  house,  so  we  ignored  him, 
but  when  we  came  to  the  last  hillock  we  dismounted,  I 
covering  my  face  completely,  and  with  the  army  of  nine 
in  battle  array  behind  us  we  marched  towards  a  very 
dignified  group  who  came  forward  to  greet  us. 

Except  for  the  Sayeds  themselves  and  the  ekhwan  I 
had  met  for  a  moment  at  Jedabia,  I  had  so  far  talked 
only  with  merchants  and  Government  officials,  a  few 
sheikhs  of  the  smaller  zawias  and  the  Beduins.  Now 
we  were  meeting  the  great  men  of  the  Senussi,  important 
ekhwan,  shrewd  statesmen  as  well  as  religious  chiefs. 
They  welcomed  us  with  grave,  calm  dignity,  that  uncon- 
scious, simple  dignity  that  the  West  can  never  learn  of 
the  East,  for  rank  in  the  former  is  a  ladder  up  which 
all  men  may  climb,  but  in  the  latter  it  is  a  tableland 
apart.  It  is  such  a  remote  world,  so  utterly  unattainable 
by  those  who  do  not  inherit  it,  that  the  sheikh  may 
safely  invite  the  camel-driver  to  "fadhl"  with  him  or 
the  ekhwan  unbend  to  the  bread-seller.  Men  talk  of  the 
democracy  of  the  East  because  there  appears  to  be  but 
one  distinction — the  free-born  from  the  slave,  yet  even 


194  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

the  black  Sudani  girl  may  be  the  mother  of  a  Mahdi! 
There  is  no  shadow  of  democracy  in  the  untainted  East. 
There  is  only  heredity.  A  man  lives  by  the  glory  of 
his  father  and  his  father's  father  and  when  he  may 
not  take  pride  in  them  it  is  to  the  glory  of  his  tribe 
he  clings. 

^VVith  the  grave,  massive  figures  in  spotless  white 
jerds,  under  which  gleamed  the  richest  colourings,  orange, 
red  and  purple,  in  splendid  embroidered  jelabias,  we 
entered  the  first  big  house  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  It 
was  the  dwelling  of  Sidi  Idris,  so  a  great  honour  was 
done  us.  Along  one  side  of  the  big  central  court  ran 
one  of  the  high  arched  loggias  we  had  seen  from 
the  hill  and  this  opened  into  an  equally  long  room, 
immensely  high,  thickly  carpeted,  its  white  plaster 
walls  decorated  with  texts  from  the  Koran  and  small, 
regular  alcoves  wherein  were  unglazed  windows  pro- 
tected by  green  shutters,  over  which  hung  immense 
glass  balls  like  those  we  put  on  Christmas  trees.  The 
ceiling  was  covered  with  gay  chintz  and  a  row  of 
huge  ornate  lamps,  with  more  pendant  green  and  blue 
balls  hung  from  it.  We  found  ourselves  seated  in  a  circle 
facing  the  open  door  with  four  of  the  reverend  ekhwan. 
In  the  place  of  honour  was  Sayed  Saleh  el  Baskari,  a 
cousin  of  Sidi  el  Abed,  his  wakil  and  the  acting 
kaimakaan  of  Kufara,  in  daffodil  yellow  and  black,  with 
purple  lining  to  his  wide  sleeves.  He  had  a  broad, 
intelligent  brow  and  dimples  in  his  bronzed  red  cheeks, 
a  long,  drooping  black  moustache  above  a  firm-lipped 
mouth  and  tiny  thin  beard.  His  eyes  were  kind  and 
his  smile  frank,  but  he  was  the  typical  Eastern  states- 
man of  few  bland  words  to  hide  much  thought. 

Next  to  him  sat  Sayed  Abdil  Rahman  Bu  Zetina,  a 
small  man  with  broad,  grey  beard  and  dark,  reflective 
face,  level  brows  and  fine-cut  nostrils.  He  might  be  a 


FEASTS  IX  THE  HOLY  PLACE         195 

philosopher,  a  divine!  Then  came  the  mighty  Moham- 
med Bu  Fadil,  brother  of  the  absent  kaimakaan, 
enormous  of  person,  in  pale  saffron  yellow,  with  a 
primrose  kufiya  wound  round  and  round  his  head  above 
the  turban,  so  that  much  of  his  plump,  shining  face, 
with  wide-lipped  smile  and  humorous  eyes,  was  hidden 
in  its  folds.  The  fourth  was  a  very  old  man,  long  and 
lean,  with  pointed,  trailing  beard,  shrunk,  hollow  cheeks, 
parchment  coloured  as  his  robes,  but  something  of  the 
seer  burned  in  his  still  vital  eyes.  He,  Sayed  Osmari 
the  judge,  had  known  the  wonders  of  Sidi  el  Mahdi, 
and  the  passionate  faith  which  makes  martyrs  was  in 
him.  The  little  council  read  and  re-read  our  letters 
and  expressed  calmly  and  graciously  their  satisfaction. 
Then  the  subject  of  our  detention  in  Hawari  came  up, 
and  with  it  smiles.  "You  did  not  choose  your 
messenger  well,"  they  said.  "Had  you  heard  the 
stories  of  Abdullah  you  would  have  sympathised  with 
our  hesitation.  We  did  not  like  that  talk  ourselves. 
However,  we  will  now  relieve  you  of  him."  The  tone 
was  decided.  We  wondered  what  would  happen  to 
Abdullah.  Justice  is  tactfully  slow  in  the  East,  but 
when  it  comes  it  is  final. 

Immediately  after  our  visitors  had  left,  while  we  were 
putting  up  gaily  painted  canvas  partitions  in  the  long 
room,  black  slaves  appeared,  bearing  a  banquet  in  many 
blue  bowls  on  an  immense  brass  tray.  This  was  placed 
on  a  vermilion  cloth  on  the  floor  and  beside  it  we  sat 
cross-legged,  dipping  our  fingers  first  into  one  dish  and 
then  into  another.  "This  is  the  real  joy  of  Kufara," 
said  Hassanein,  voraciously  devouring  most  of  a  lamb 
cooked  in  "mulukhia,"  a  sort  of  thin  spinach  sauce. 
I  was  silent  from  pure  joy — and  a  wonderful  vegetable 
which  I  discovered  at  the  bottom  of  one  of  the  messes 
of  thick,  buttery  gravy  and  meat.  I  hoped  Hassanein 


196    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

did  not  know  it  was  there,  so  I  encouraged  him  to 
continue  with  the  pseudo-spinach,  but  he  pounced  upon 
it  suddenly.  "Bamia!  We  have  it  in  Egypt,"  he 
exclaimed,  and  thereafter  it  was  a  race!  There  is 
practically  no  sugar  in  Kufara.  It  costs  three  mejidies 
an  oke,  so  there  were  no  sweets  to  our  banquet,  but  a 
great  brass  bowl  and  a  long-necked  ewer  were  brought 
to  us  to  wash  hands  and  mouth  in  and,  as  we  shook  the 
five  weeks'  conglomeration  of  sand  from  our  flea-bags, 
we  were  blissfully  happy. 

I  feel  that  one  should  not  acknowledge  it,  but 
certainly  January  15  stands  out  in  my  mind  as  a  day 
of  food!  I  have  described  so  many  fasts  ,that  I 
remember  feeling  an  intense  pleasure  in  writing  my 
diary  that  night,  while  Hassanein  concocted  warm  letters 
of  thanks  to  be  sent  back  to  Sidi  Idris  and  Sayed  Rida 
by  a  north-bound  caravan. 

I  had  scarcely  woken  up  and  blinked  at  the  unfamiliar 
sight  of  a  red  and  blue  carpet  when  Sayed  Mohammed 
el  Jeddawi  (who  had  come  from  Jedda  some  forty  years 
ago,  a  follower  of  the  sainted  Mahdi,  and  was  now  wakil 
of  Sidi  Idris  and  Sayed  Rida)  appeared  with  an  offer- 
ing of  a  bowl  of  sour  curdled  milk  and  a  palm-leaf 
platter  of  marvellous  stoneless  dates,  huge,  soft,  clean, 
golden  things  which  melted  in  one's  mouth — such  as 
Europe  has  never  known!  We  were  warned  that  at 
9  A.M.  there  would  be  a  banquet  for  the  whole  party  in 
the  house  of  Sayed  Saleh,  so  we  arrayed  ourselves  in  our 
cleanest  garments,  not  a  very  imposing  spectacle,  for  I 
had  to  wear  a  jerd  belted  with  a  scarlet  hezaam,  as  my 
only  barracan  had  served  forty  days  without  washing! 

Slaves  came  to  show  us  the  way  and  we  followed 
these  cheery  black  personages  through  a  winding  sandy 
path  between  high  walls,  across  a  wide  space  before  the 
massed  buildings  of  the  zawia  with  the  high,  square 


FEASTS  IX  THE  HOLY  PLACE         197 

block  of  Saved  Ahmed  Sherif's  house.  I  began  to  see 
that  there  were  few  houses  in  Taj,  but  all  of  them  were 
large,  intricate  buildings  with  a  maze  of  courts  and 
passages.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  in  the  holy  place,  beside 
the  clustered  houses  of  the  Sayeds,  which  occupy  about 
a  third  of  the  town,  and  the  many  dependencies  of  the 
zawia,  only  the  important  ekhwan  live.  Therefore,  one 
saw  but  two  classes  of  people  among  its  dark  walls. 
Many  slaves  in  strips  of  bright  colour,  or  imposing  and 
generally  portly  figures  in  immaculate  white  turbans  and 
silk  jerds  over  straight  tobhs  or  jelabias  in  all  imaginable 
colours.  I  noticed  one  delightful  and  massive  old  man 
in  a  garment  the  colour  of  blood  oranges  with  what 
looked  like  a  white  shawl  bordered  with  vermilion  round 
his  shoulders,  but  it  was  difficult  to  see  clearly  through 
the  one  tiny  little  chink  I  allowed  myself  in  my  thick 
white  draperies. 

In  the  desert  I  had  been  as  careless  of  my  veil  as 
my  namesake  Khadija,  Mohammed's  first  wife,  a  lady 
of  forceful  character,  in  whose  service  the  prophet  took 
a  caravan  to  Syria  before  he  espoused  its  owner  some 
twenty  years  older  than  himself.  In  Kufara,  however, 
the  greatest  care  was  necessary  and  I  had  to  learn  to 
endure  a  more  or  less  perpetual  headache  from  the  heavy 
folds  and  also  to  make  swift  photographs  from  between 
them.  The  faithless  Abdullah  had  taught  us  one  thing 
at  least — to  hide  our  cameras  and  note-books  with  more 
care! 

Sayed  Saleh's  house  was  like  the  maze  at  Hampton 
Court.  However  often  I  went  in,  I  do  not  think  I 
should  ever  be  able  to  find  my  way  out  again.  A 
resplendent  person  with  a  dark  green  cloak,  much  braided 
in  gold,  flung  over  his  khaki  uniform  met  us  in  the 
second  court,  where  we  left  our  soldiers  to  be  royally 
feasted  in  one  of  the  rooms  leading  off  it.  After  that 


198  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

I  counted  three  more  courts  and  five  passages  before 
Mohammed  and  Yusuf  were  spirited  away  to  their 
separate  banquet.  Still  our  guide  went  on  past  various 
pairs  of  yellow  shoes  discarded  at  several  entrances.  At 
last,  after  two  more  yards  and  several  passages,  we 
entered  the  central  court,  with  broad,  matted  and 
carpeted  verandas  running  along  two  sides. 

Hastily  removing  our  shoes,  we  went  to  meet  our 
stately  host,  who  beamed  his  welcome  and  waved  us 
across  the  wide  space  between  the  arches  into  a  long, 
high  room  whose  walls  seemed  to  be  entirely  hung  with 
clocks,  barometers,  thermometers  and  other  such  objects. 
I  cannot  tell  how  many  instruments  there  were,  but  I 
counted  fifteen  clocks,  most  of  them  going.  At  either 
end  was  a  row  of  the  huge  painted,  carved  chests  that 
the  great  folk  carry  on  their  long  caravan  journeys  and 
in  most  of  the  alcoves,  which  were  hung  with  rugs,  were 
tea-caddies  of  every  size,  shape  and  colour.  A  large 
pianola  bore  reels  of  Pagliacci  and  Carmen.  Thick  dark 
carpets  were  piled  on  the  matted  floor,  with  rows  of  stiff 
cushions  round  the  walls,  but  the  thing  that  interested 
me  most,  after  the  meagre  rations  of  our  journey,  was 
the  fringed,  scarlet  cloth  in  the  centre  of  which  reposed 
a  round  brass  tray  laden  with  food  and  flanked  with  all 
sorts  of  bowls  and  bottles. 

Our  host  wished  us  good  appetite.  "Bilhana! 
Bilshifa!"  "With  pleasure  and  health!"  He  then 
vanished  and  a  slave  lifted  an  exquisite  silver  and  brass 
ewer  to  pour  water  over  our  hands  into  its  companion 
bowl  with  a  fretted  cover.  Another  brought  minute 
cups  of  black  coffee  strongly  flavoured  with  red  pepper. 
Then  we  sank  cross-legged  beside  the  tray,  wide-eyed 
with  wonder  at  the  array  before  us.  Arab  hospitality 
is  prodigious.  Everyone  gives  of  his  best,  but  only  a 
very  great  man  could  provide  the  Arabian  Nights'  feast 


FEASTS  IX  THE  HOLY  PLACE         199 

which  was  offered  us.  It  brought  back  memories  of 
Saved  Rida's  marvellous  dinners  at  Jedabia,  especially 
as  it  was  to  him  and  to  Sidi  Idris  that  we  owed  our 
welcome  in  Kufara,  the  most  loyal  and  devoted  of  all 
the  Libyan  oases,  for  it  is  the  keynote  of  the  Senussi 
faith.  I  heard  Hassanein  repeating  rapidly  the  vital 
points  of  the  speech  he  intended  to  make  to  the 
kaimakaan  concerning  our  return  journey  and  I  almost 
shook  him.  "Never  mind  those  details  now!"  I 
exclaimed.  "How  long  do  you  think  they  will  leave 
us  alone  with  this  food?" 

There  were  twelve  dishes  of  lamb  cooked  in  different 
rich  sauces,  with  a  monster  bowl  of  strange  oddments, 
which  I  imagine  also  belonged  to  the  private  life  of  a 
sheep,  floating  in  rich  gravy.  There  were  a  score  of 
poached  eggs  on  silver  plates  and  fifteen  vegetables  and 
green  sticky  mounds  of  "mulukhia"  which  hid  all  sorts 
of  intricate  delicacies.  Then  there  were  bowls  of  curdled 
milk,  which  I  had  begun  to  like,  or  powdered  mint 
leaves  and  of  an  unknown  liquid  which  I  thought  was 
sweet-scented  vinegar,  with  bottles  of  water,  because 
the  Senussi  law  forbids  strong  drinks.  When  we  paused 
for  breath  a  slave  brought  us  another  bowl,  this  time  of 
bitter  lemon  juice,  to  renew  our  appetites  and  when 
at  last  these  failed,  a  second  cup  of  the  peppered  coffee 
appeared  before  the  ceremony  of  washing  hands  and 
mouth  in  the  carved  ewer.  Then  fly-whisks  were  given 
us  and  we  leant  against  the  hard,  stiff  cushions,  feeling 
beautifully  replete,  until  our  host  joined  us  and  we  did 
business  in  the  Oriental  fashion,  while  he  made  three 
series  of  tea,  the  first  bitter,  the  second  scented  and 
the  third  with  mint.  He  had  an  elaborate  silver  tea-set 
spread  before  him  and  he  warmed  the  teapot  himself 
on  a  little  brazier,  while  we  skirted  round  the  subjects 
nearest  our  hearts,  approaching,  retreating,  avoiding 


200    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

obstacles  or  shadows  of  such  and  winning  his  obvious 
approval  by  the  tactful  way  we  left  the  matter  of  our 
future  travels  in  his  hands.  As  I  regretfully  relinquished 
my  third  empty  glass  a  slave  poured  scent  over  me, 
strong  and  sweet,  and  another  offered  me  a  silver  incense 
burner  over  whose  warm  perfumed  smoke  I  might  dry 
my  scent-drenched  hands!  In  all  the  generous-hearted 
East  I  had  never  met  this  last  pretty  custom  before. 

When  the  due  proportion  of  business  for  a  first  visit 
— a  very  minute  amount  it  would  appear  to  Americans 
— had  been  discussed,  we  bade  farewell  to  our  host  and 
returned  to  our  cool  house  on  the  cliff.  Since  I  said 
this  was  a  day  of  food,  let  me  add  immediately  that 
about  midday  the  delightful  wakil  appeared  with  an 
enormous  basin  of  "couss-couss"  about  two  feet  in 
diameter.  On  the  top  of  it  reposed  most  of  the  jaw  of 
a  sheep  and  the  whole  mass  was  encircled  by  a  continual 
line  of  sausages  and  a  phalanx  of  hard-boiled  eggs. 
Now,  if  there  is  one  thing  on  earth  I  love  it  is  "couss- 
couss,"  but  for  once  I  looked  at  it  almost  indifferently. 
Hassanein  suggested  various  desperate  remedies,  such  as 
instantly  walking  round  the  wadi,  but  I  would  not  be 
parted  from  my  "couss-couss."  I  looked  at  it  lovingly 
and,  after  a  violent  argument  with  Farraj  over  the 
possibilities  of  heating  a  quart  or  two  of  water  for  a 
bath,  found  energy  enough  to  eat  a  pathetic  little  hole 
in  one  side  of  the  floury  mess. 

The  climax  to  our  day  was  at  sunset,  when  we  were 
summoned  to  another  huge  banquet  at  the  house  of  the 
ever-hospitable  Sidi  Saleh,  who  was  determined  to  honour 
the  Sayed's  guests  by  every  means  in  his  power.  The 
memory  of  that  last  meal  is  somewhat  blurred,  but  I 
believe  the  centre  dish  was  the  larger  part  of  a  sheep 
on  a  mountain  of  rice,  flanked  by  bowls  of  hot,  very 
sweet  milk.  As  we  waited  for  our  host  to  join  us  in 


FEASTS  IN  THE  HOLY  PLACE        201 

order  tactfully  to  brush  the  antennae  of  business,  I  com- 
plimented Hassanein  on  the  thoroughness  with  which 
he  had  assimilated  the  grave,  aloof  dignity  of  a  Sheikh 
el-Alim.  He  looked  at  me  blankly.  "It  is  not  dignity. 
It  is  torpor!"  he  said. 

Of  course,  there  were  other  moments  in  the  day. 
The  most  delightful  little  person  about  nine  years  old 
came  to  see  us  after  we  returned  from  the  kaimakaan's 
morning  feast.  He  had  the  largest  and  most  velvety 
brown  eyes,  surrounded  by  a  thick  fringe  of  curly  lashes, 
with  a  faint  shadow  of  kohl  to  accentuate  their  beauty. 
A  prince  and  the  son  of  a  prince,  little  Sidi  Omar  had 
all  the  dignity  of  his  race.  He  was  garbed  in  a  long 
purple  silk  jelabia,  opening  over  a  rose-coloured 
embroidered  jubba,  while  his  little  pale  face  was  framed 
in  a  miniature  white  kufiya  under  a  purple  tarboush. 
He  insisted  on  accompanying  us  as  we  wandered  round 
the  sacred  village,  giving  us  grave  advice.  "Sitt  Khadija, 
cover  your  face  now,"  he  would  say  as  the  snowy  trap- 
pings of  a  bulky  ekhwan  appeared  at  an  unsuspected 
door,  or  "Sidi  Ahmed  Bu  Hassanein,  you  must  salute 
So-and-so;  he  is  the  son  of  So-and-so." 

From  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  where  the  last  houses 
almost  overhung  the  steep  descent,  there  was  a  glorious 
view  of  the  whole  wadi.  One  could  stroll  east  of  Taj 
and  look  across  pale  sands,  broken  by  green  of  barley 
and  wheat,  to  the  lake  amidst  palms  and  the  narrow 
end  of  the  valley  where  the  hills  close  in.  One  could 
gaze  straight  south  over  the  Sayed's  gardens  to  the  solid 
walls  of  Jof  rising  in  tiers  on  slight  mounds  with  the 
famous  ancient  zawia  standing  a  little  apart  and  in  the 
far  distance  the  line  of  Zuruk's  palms,  where  a  wide 
break  in  the  guardian  dunes  gave  a  glimpse  of  flatter 
sands.  To  the  west  the  view  was  limited  only  by  one's 
eyesight.  A  few  large  isolated  houses  lay  beside  the  great 


202    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

mass  of  palms,  which  swept  round  the  second  streak  of 
blue  water  beside  a  dry  salt  marsh  and  away,  ever 
widening  to  the  far  horizon  where  lay  Tolab  and  Tolelib 
in  a  dark  blur  as  the  valley  ran  beyond  the  strangely 
luminous  hills. 

When  we  started  to  stroll  down  one  of  the  steep 
defiles  that  lead  from  the  rocky  tableland  to  the  smooth 
sands  below,  Sidi  Omar's  brilliant  smile  disappeared. 
"Do  not  go  down  alone,"  he  urged.  "The  Zouias 
are  bad  people.  Perhaps  some  of  them  will  ask  you 
questions — why  you  have  come  to  their  country  and  for 
what  business?"  Therefore,  we  stayed  that  day  on  the 
plateau  and  I  took  many  photographs  beneath  the 
shadow  of  my  heavy  draperies.  For  once  I  was  grateful 
to  the  Moslem  veil,  for  Hassanein  used  tactfully  to  lure 
our  companions  away  to  look  at  a  view  and  I  would 
wander  shyly  and  slowly,  with  the  uncertain  gait  of  the 
harem  women,  to  the  desired  point  of  vantage,  whip 
out  the  SA  kodak  from  my  enormous  sleeve  and  snap 
some  aspect  of  the  enchanted  valley  before  aimlessly 
straying  back.  I  risked  a  lightning  snapshot  at  the  main 
block  of  the  zawia  while  Hassanein  greeted  a  learned 
sheikh,  but  I  felt  it  was  dangerous,  because  there  were 
a  few  students  lingering  round  the  door  beside  the 
round  tower  in  the  wall  and  they  must  have  seen  the 
flash  of  the  lens  between  the  white  folds  of  my  girdled 
jerd. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  "CITIES"  OF  KUFARA 

ON  January  16  our  battles  began  again.  Unfor- 
tunately Hassanein  was  ill,  but  he  dragged  him- 
self up  for  a  last  effort.  Perhaps  success  had  gone 
to  our  heads  a  little,  for  not  content  with  visiting  Taj 
and  Jof,  the  religious  centre  and  the  seat  of  Government, 
we  had  lately  made  plans  for  exploring  the  oasis  to  its 
farthest  limits.  In  vain  the  unfortunate  retinue  pointed 
out  that  it  would  be  another  case  of  Hawawiri.  "The 
Zouias  are  in  the  two  'cities,'  "  they  urged.  "There  is 
nothing  in  the  villages.  You  can  throw  a  stone  into 
Buma  from  these  walls,  so  why  tire  yourselves  further?" 
We  felt  that  this  sudden  thought  for  our  comfort  had 
an  ulterior  motive,  so  we  pursued  the  subject.  "I  should 
like  to  see  the  people,"  I  said  to  Yusuf.  "You  will  see 
them  all  in  the  suq  at  Jof.  Every  week  they  come  in  to 
buy  and  to  sell.  They  are  savages,  the  Zouias  who  live 
on  the  edge  of  the  oasis,  and  they  are  poor  people  with- 
out interest."  "Well,  I  should  like  to  see  the  western 
end  of  the  wadi."  Yusuf  looked  puzzled.  "But  you 
can  see  everything  in  Kufara  from  this  mountain,"  he 
said  with  some  truth.  I  was  reduced  to  retorting  that 
I  could  not  see  the  actual  houses  of  Tolab  and  Zuruk. 
Our  fat  retainer  had  a  distinct  sense  of  humour.  "Nor 
could  you  see  the  houses  of  Hawawiri  from  our  camp!" 
he  reminded.  "I  want  to  meet  the  heads  of  the  Zouias 
and  if  I  go  to  all  the  villages  I  can  talk  to  them." 
Yusuf  seized  upon  this  happily.  "They  can  come 

203 


204    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

and  see  you  and  then  you  can  ask  them  about  their 
people." 

Thus  word  went  forth  from  the  kaimakaan  that  all 
the  tribal  headmen  were  to  come  to  Taj  to  meet  the 
important  strangers  and  the  hour  and  place  appointed 
for  this  most  solemn  council  were  "four  hours  before 
sunset  in  the  house  of  Sidi  Idris."  We  had  anticipated 
battle,  because  Abdullah  had  been  absent  for  twenty-four 
hours  and  we  learned  too  late  that  he  had  been  making 
a  tour  of  the  small  villages,  expounding  the  treacherous 
stories  which  had  failed  in  the  Senussi  centres,  but  we 
did  not  expect  quite  such  a  disastrous  meeting.  The 
fifteen  sheikhs  who  appeared  nearly  two  hours  late  at 
the  rendezvous,  were  weak  and  convinced  that  if  they 
carried  out  their  designs  they  would  be  acting  against 
the  wish  of  the  Sayeds  whom  they  respected  and 
honoured.  Yet  so  great  was  their  long-cherished  loath- 
ing of  the  stranger,  which  had  been  fostered  by  years 
of  isolation  till  it  was  as  much  a  part  of  their  creed  as 
the  Shehada  or  the  Zakah,  that  they  were  determined 
at  all  costs  to  prevent  our  penetrating  farther  into  their 
country.  One  gradually  absorbed  something  of  the 
mentality  of  this  strange,  distrustful  people  as  one  sat 
amidst  the  circle  of  gloomy,  suspicious  faces. 

For  generations  the  Zouias  have  been  known  as  a 
lawless  tribe.  Originally  they  came  from  the  Fezzan  by 
groups  of  families,  each  owning  a  particular  headman, 
but  they  never  seem  to  have  possessed  one  supreme 
chief.  The  two  most  famous  of  the  ancient  sheikhs 
were  Abdullah  Shekari  and  Helaig,  though  it  was  Agil 
who  met  Sidi  Ben  Ali  es-Senussi  in  Mecca  and  told  him 
of  the  strange  enclosed  land  in  the  centre  of  the  Sahara 
which  the  Zouias  had  conquered  from  the  enfeebled 
Tebu.  The  great  ascetic  had  already  set  flame  to  the 
religious  imagination  of  North  Africa  from  Morocco 


THE  "CITIES"  OF  KUFARA  205 

eastwards,  but  he  knew  nothing  of  southern  Libya.  Yet 
he  told  the  half  savage  tribesmen  that  in  a  wadi  near 
Taiserbo  would  be  found  an  irak  tree,  from  the  wood 
of  which  the  Arabs  make  their  primitive  form  of  tooth- 
brushes. The  tree  was  duly  discovered,  the  miracle 
announced  to  the  tribe  and,  later,  Agil  went  north  again 
to  Gebel  Akhbar  in  Cyrenaica,  to  offer  the  allegiance 
of  his  people  to  the  great  Senussi.  Kufara,  the  original 
sultanate  of  the  Tebus,  had  become  since  the  Zouia 
conquest  some  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  before,  a 
danger  spot  to  every  caravan,  for  it  was  a  regular 
stronghold  of  brigands  who  lived  by  plunder. 

It  was  a  definite  custom  that  all  travellers,  especially 
merchants,  passing  through  the  oasis,  should  pay  "darb," 
a  duty  which  varied  according  to  the  value  of  their 
merchandise,  otherwise  the  caravan  would  be  attacked 
and  plundered. 

Before  the  coming  of  the  Senussi  there  were  only 
palms  in  the  oasis  and  the  tribesmen  were  content  with 
the  most  primitive  clothes,  hardly  better  than  those  of 
the  skin-clad  Tebus.  It  was  Sidi  el  Mahdi  who  intro- 
duced the  jerd  and  the  jubba. 

The  dawn  of  civilisation  came  with  the  ekhwan  sent 
by  Sidi  Ben  Ali,  but  the  Mahdi  made  Kufara  the  wonder- 
land it  is  to-day  and  by  extensive  planting  started  the 
cultivation  of  grain,  fruit  and  flowers.  Sidi  Idris  owes 
some  of  his  influence  among  the  Zouias  to  the  fact  that 
he  is  the  great  Mahdi's  son,  though  his  own  strong 
personality  counts  for  much  in  a  land  where  striking 
individuality  is  rare.  Under  the  Senussi  government 
the  Zouias  were  obliged  to  give  up  their  organised 
brigandage,  but  with  such  a  long  history  of  murder  and 
plunder  behind  them — half  the  tragedies  of  the  Sahara 
may  be  laid  at  their  door — it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  they  are  still  lawless  and  wild.  Every  man  fears 


206    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

them  and  only  a  power  as  great  as  the  Senussi  could  hold 
them  in  check.  They  were  practically  infidels  before 
they  made  their  submission  to  Sidi  Ben  Ali,  having  very 
nearly  lapsed  from  Islam,  though,  as  they  come  from 
Yemen,  they  probably  formed  part  of  the  armies  who 
followed  Beni  Suleim  in  the  eleventh  century,  from 
Midian  through  Syria  and  Egypt  to  Cyrenaica  where 
some  tribes  settled,  notably  the  Abidat,  Hassan,  Faied, 
Brahsa,  Hohsa,  Abid  Auwaghir  and  Mogharba.  With 
the  fierce  religious  fanaticism  which  they  absorbed  fresh 
from  the  fervent  ascetics  who  were  enthusiastically 
preaching  a  new,  pure  Islam,  were  mixed  the  hatred 
and  scorn  of  all  who  had  hot  received  this  teaching. 
"He  who  is  not  with  us  is  against  us,"  was  interpreted 
literally  and  the  land  was  closed  against  the  stranger, 
be  he  Christian  or  Moslem. 

It  was  easy,  therefore,  to  understand  the  attitude  of 
the  white-robed  figures  who  crouched  immobile  round 
one  end  of  the  long  room.  They  felt  that  they  were 
defending  not  only  their  jealously  hidden  country  but 
their  religion  from  the  strangers  whom  they  hated  and 
feared.  In  their  hearts  they  could  not  believe  that  the 
greatly  revered  Sayeds  had  authorised  our  journey. 
Continual  distrust  and  suspicion  are  bad  daily  com- 
panions. They  had  marred  and  lined  the  brooding  faces 
round  us  till  there  was  little  left  of  the  frank,  fearless 
Beduin.  On  one  side  sat  Hamid  Bu  Korayim,  son  of 
the  man  who  had  saved  Rohlfs,  his  dark,  narrow  face  set 
in  mute  obstinacy.  In  front  of  us  was  Sheikh  Suleiman 
Bu  Matar,  the  only  spot  of  colour  in  the  group,  for  he 
wore  a  brilliant  orange  robe  under  his  jerd,  and  Bush 
Naf  el  Ghadad,  an  old  man  with  a  grey  beard  who 
occasionally  poured  a  little  oil  on  the  troubled  waters. 
Others  present  were  Sheikh  Badr  and  Mabruk  Bu 
Helayig. 


THE  "CITIES"  OF  KUFARA  207 

The  whole  assembly  had  made  up  its  mind  to  oppose 
us  and  they  would  listen  to  no  argument.  "Khallas! 
It  is  ended!  It  is  ended!  Of  what  use  further  speech?" 
they  cried.  "If  you  have  a  letter  from  Sidi  Idris,  saying 
that  you  are  to  visit  all  our  villages  by  name,  then  you 
shall  go,"  said  Bu  Korayim.  "You  know  that  we  have 
the  Sayed's  permission  to  visit  Kufara.  No  traveller  can 
set  foot  beyond  Jedabia  without  it.  Do  you  think  we 
should  have  risked  certain  death?  We  know  that  no  one 
can  hope  to  visit  even  the  outskirts  of  your  country  with- 
out the  consent  of  Sidi  Idris,  but  we  are  his  guests!" 
They  changed  their  ground.  "You  have  seen  Kufara," 
urged  Suleiman  Bu  Matar.  "Jof  and  Taj  are  the 
'markas'  [centre  of  government].  The  villages  are 
not  interesting.  There  are  no  zawias  even."  Argument 
was  useless,  for  none  dared  give  way  before  the  others. 
We  saw  that  one  or  two  were  weakening  out  of  respect 
for  the  fact  that  we  were  guests  of  their  rulers,  but  the 
old  inherited  instinct  welded  them  together.  Generally 
it  would  be  impossible  to  get  fifteen  Arabs  to  remain 
united  against  strong  arguments  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  but  we  were  fighting  a  principle  as  profoundly 
part  of  their  existence  as  food  and  drink.  "Khallas! 
Khallas!"  resounded  from  every  side  and,  without  even 
waiting  for  the  usual  ceremony  of  tea-drinking,  the 
meeting  rose  hurriedly.  "We  have  spoken,"  they  said, 
"and  argument  is  of  no  avail."  "If  you  go,  you  go 
at  your  own  risk,"  added  Sheikh  Badr.  Yet  before  the 
last  flow  of  protest  they  had  read  the  "Fatha"  all 
together  to  show  that  they  honoured  the  Sayed  in  the 
persons  of  his  guests! 

So  the  strange  council  of  impulse  and  reason  came  to 
an  end  and,  as  the  last  white-robed  figure  fumbled  for 
its  shoes  at  the  edge  of  the  matted  loggia,  Hassanein 
turned  to  me  despondently.  "We  have  failed  abso- 


208    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

lutely!"  he  said.  I  would  not  agree.  The  guests  had 
come  to  us  strong  with  a  great  resolve,  wound  up  to  battle 
pitch,  each  man  determined  to  support  the  others.  Now 
they  would  separate  and,  each  alone,  would  have  the  nasty 
cold  feeling  of  wondering  what  he  had  done  and  what 
the  final  result  of  his  action  would  be.  "Wait!"  said 
I.  "Very  soon  they  will  feel  that  they  have  shown  us 
how  dangerous  it  is  to  cross  their  borders  and  they  will 
only  remember  in  whose  house  they  met  us!" 

Later  in  the  afternoon  a  Mojabra  merchant,  Tawati 
Haifan,  cousin  of  our  old  friend  She-ib,  and  one  of  the 
ekhwan,  Sayed  Mohammed  Semmen,  visited  us,  partly 
to  welcome  and  partly  to  console  us  for  the  behaviour  of 
the  Zouias.  "They  are  bad  people,"  they  said.  "They 
have  always  been  like  that." 

Then  sunset  came  and  with  it  the  summons  to  dinner 
in  the  house  of  many  courts.  The  Wadi  of  Kufara  is 
always  beautiful,  but  at  sunset  it  is  magical,  for  the 
girdle  of  strange  hills  glows  with  wonderful  mauve  and 
violet  lights  and  the  oasis  lies  half  in  shadow  where  blend 
the  emerald  and  sapphire  of  palm  and  lake,  half  in  flame, 
where  the  burning  sands  reflect  the  glory  of  the  sky.  It 
used  to  make  me  catch  my  breath  with  ever-new  surprise 
as  I  came  out  of  the  discreet  little  door  in  the  wake  of 
the  ebony  slave,  who  took  a  great  interest  in  the  state 
of  my  appetite  and  never  could  understand  why  I  could 
not  cope  with  three  separate  breakfasts  sent  me  by  as 
many  hosts. 

I  never  realised  more  fully  the  remoteness  of  Kufara 
than  when,  after  the  deft-handed  slaves  had  spirited  away 
the  huge,  brass  tray,  and  with  it  every  trace  of  our  meal, 
we  sat  motionless  beside  our  host  in  the  long  shadowed 
room,  while  he  silently  and  very  slowly  made  his  carefully 
prepared  tea.  The  many  high-walled  courts  produced  a 
silence  in  that  dim  room  of  thick  carpets  and  rare  lights 


ZAWIA  TOWER   AT  TAJ 


KUFARA    WADI.    FROM    TAJ 


BARKAKING:    A  TOO  SUDDEN  DESCENT 


A    LUNCH    IN     Kl'FAKA    VAI.T.E1 


209 

as  profound  as  the  stillness  of  the  desert.  Words,  even 
smiles,  would  have  been  out  of  place  during  the  little 
ceremony,  while  rose-water  or  mint  was  being  measured 
gravely  by  the  sensitive  fingers  of  our  host.  Beyond  the 
circle  of  light  cast  by  a  solitary  candle  in  a  high  silver 
sconce  were  only  vague  forms  of  cushions  or  huge  chests 
looming  in  remote  corners.  Within  it  was  a  dark,  thin- 
faced  young  sheikh,  all  in  white,  from  his  silken  kufiya 
to  his  flowing  jerd  and  beside  him  our  grave,  reflective 
host,  with  a  vivid  green  shawl  bordered  in  purple 
framing  his  bronzed  face  and  drooping  over  a  long 
green  jubba,  which  showed  the  richly  embroidered  sedairi 
beneath.  A  jewelled  hand  slowly  poured  drop  after 
drop  of  essence  into  the  amber  glasses,  while  the  scented 
smoke  of  a  little  brazier  drifted  gently  across  the  picture. 
One  heard  Time  pause  to  catch  the  shadows  of  thoughts 
that  wavered  between  the  light  and  the  dark,  so  mystic 
was  the  silence.  Then  suddenly  and  startlingly  clear 
came  the  sound  that  perfected  the  harmony — the  cry  of 
the  muezzin  for  the  evening  prayer! 

Next  day  a  small  and  somewhat  forlorn  party 
descended  one  of  the  steep  defiles  into  the  wadi.  It 
consisted  of  Hassanein  and  myself,  mounted  on  micro- 
scopic yet  exceedingly  unruly  donkeys,  the  Commandant 
of  the  Gendarmerie,  resplendent  in  pale  grey  uniform 
slashed  and  faced  with  red  and  an  immense  tasselled 
kufiya,  with  four  fully  armed  soldiers  and  a  most  pic- 
turesque Zouia  sheikh,  Mohammed  Teifaitah,  the  only 
tribesman  who  was  brave  enough  to  accompany  us.  He, 
was  splendidly  mounted  on  a  white  Arab  horse,  curved 
of  neck  and  long  of  pastern,  with  a  scarlet  saddle,  bow- 
pommelled,  five  different  coloured  saddle-cloths,  and 
silver  stirrups  rather  like  sharp  coal  scuttles. 

Kufara  is  narrow  at  the  eastern  end  and  with  a  break 
in  the  southern  wrall  of  cliff,  where  a  broad  space  runs 


210    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

out  beyond  Zuruk,  it  widens  gradually  as  it  goes  west. 
The  main  mass  of  palms  begins  between  Jof  and  Taj 
and  sweeps  west  to  Talakh,  but  there  are  several  isolated 
groups,  of  which  those  of  Boema  and  Buma  are  the 
largest.  We  rode  first  eastwards,  along  the  foot  of  the 
cliffs  and  I  realised  as  we  ambled  through  thick,  pale  coral 
sand  that  if  one  wishes  to  keep  the  impression  of  an  en- 
chanted valley  one  should  never  leave  the  heights.  There 
are  beautiful  spots  in  the  valley,  where  palm  and  tamarisk 
and  rush  blend  their  shades  of  green  besides  some 
unruffled  lake,  but  it  is  from  above  that  one  grasps  the 
whole  wonder  of  water  and  wood  and  decorative  dark- 
walled  towns,  set  in  the  close  circle  of  jewelled  hills. 

As  we  neared  Boema,  its  few  houses,  large,  square 
or  oblong  blocks  of  reddish-purple,  standing  just  below 
the  northern  cliffs  a  little  apart  from  its  gardens,  the 
sheikh  grew  very  nervous.  White  figures  came  out  to 
look  at  us  and  he  urged  us  away,  but  I  wanted  a 
photograph!  Let  no  one  imagine  it  is  easy  to  manage 
a  wild,  toy  donkey,  keep  one's  face  completely  hidden 
and  secrete  about  one's  pocketless  person  two  kodaks  and 
a  spare  roll  of  films! 

The  oasis  at  Boema  is  lovely,  for  various  kinds  of 
thorn,  a  few  dark  green  olives,  tamarisks,  acacias  and  the 
feathery  grey  trees  described  as  "firewood,"  all  mingled 
their  foliage  with  the  clustered  palms.  A  kilometre 
away  is  Buma.  At  one  end  of  the  oasis  are  a  few  poor 
dwellings  of  the  slaves  who  tend  the  gardens,  some  of 
them  made  of  palms,  some  of  uneven  sand  bricks.  At 
the  other  there  is  a  village  of  the  usual  dark  houses,  while 
a  lovely  turquoise  lake,  bordered  with  high  rushes,  lies 
in  the  centre.  On  the  southern  shore,  where  there  is 
a  stretch  of  rough,  dry,  salt  waste,  we  found  the  ruins 
of  a  large  Tebu  fort.  These  ancient  people  chose  their 
sites  well,  for  this  high,  round  honeycomb  stood  on  the 


THE  "CITIES"  OF  KUFARA  211 

very  edge  of  the  water,  its  grey,  broken  walls  one  with 
the  salt  stone  that  surrounded  it  and  made  passage 
difficult  from  the  land.  There  were  one  or  two  of  the 
small,  round  oven  houses  scattered  near  the  lake  and 
we  wondered  if  Buma  had  been  the  capital  of  the  old 
Tebu  Kufara — then  called  Tazerr — for  this  fort  was 
bigger  than  anything  at  Buseima,  but  roofless  and 
windowless  as  usual. 

From  the  plantations  of  pumpkins,  radishes,  parsnips, 
onions,  with  neatly  irrigated  patches  of  wheat  and  barley, 
we  drove  our  escort  south  down  the  long,  flat  stretch  of 
gravelly  sand  to  Zuruk,  a  long  strip  of  palms  chiefly 
owned  by  Sidi  Idris  and  other  Sayeds.  There  is  no 
village  in  this  southernmost  oasis.  It  is  inhabited  only 
by  the  Sudani  slaves  who  look  after  the  dates.  We 
stopped  at  a  palm-leaf  fence  to  ask  a  huge  ebony  figure 
in  a  tattered  white  shirt  for  some  dates.  He  dived  into 
his  plaited  leaf  "tukel,"  reminiscent  of  the  Sudan,  and 
reappeared  with  a  gourd  full  of  large,  dry,  purplish  dates 
mixed  with  the  lemon-coloured  unripe  ones  that  the 
Arabs  eat  to  quench  their  thirst.  We  rode  the  whole 
length  of  Zuruk's  palms,  for  by  this  time  the  Zouia 
had  laid  aside  his  suspicions  and  was  becoming  con- 
fidential. We  asked  him  how  long  ago  his  people  had 
come  to  Kufara,  and  he  replied,  "My  father,  my  grand- 
father and  his  father  have  all  lived  here,  but  before  then 
the  tribe  came.  Sheikh  Mohammed  was  fifty-six,  so 
we  gathered  that  the  conquest  had  taken  place  some 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  It  is  a  pathetic  thing  that 
the  Tebus  are  disappearing  from  the  wadi  even  faster 
than  the  traces  of  their  odd  round  houses.  Only  a  few 
years  ago  there  were  about  five  hundred  of  these  dark- 
skinned,  round-faced  people,  with  smooth  hair,  broad 
nostrils  and  wide  mouths,  but  devoid  of  the  thick 
negroid  lips.  Now  there  are  between  fifty  and  a 


212    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

hundred.  Nearly  all  of  them  live  in  a  palm-leaf  village 
with  a  few  round  mud  hovels  on  the  outskirts  of  Jof. 
They  are  more  pastoral  in  habit  than  the  Arabs,  so,  in 
spite  of  their  debased  position  as  employees  of  the 
Zouias,  they  own  a  good  many  goats  and  sheep  and  a 
few  camels. 

There  is  practically  no  pasturage  in  the  wadi,  only 
a  little  coarse  grass  or  rushes  by  the  lakes  and  sparse 
tufts  of  the  brown,  mossy  hattab  we  saw  at  Buseima. 
Therefore  there  are  very  few  flocks  indeed  and  milk 
and  meat  are  luxuries  except  among  the  prosperous 
ekhwan  of  Taj.  Fresh  water  is  not  plentiful,  for  there 
are  no  springs.  There  is  absolutely  no  rainfall.  Some- 
times for  eight  consecutive  years  there  is  not  a  single 
shower.  All  the  gardens  are  irrigated  from  wells,  but 
slave  labour  is  abundant.  Yet  Kufara  in  summer  must 
be  a  veritable  Eden.  From  her  grapes  she  makes  the 
sweet  vinegar  we  drank  at  banquets  and  from  her  roses 
the  essence  dropped  into  our  tea,  as  well  as  the  heavier 
perfume  used  in  braziers.  She  has  olives  for  oil, 
almonds,  lemons,  figs,  melons  and  peaches.  Her  leather 
comes  from  the  Sudan  and  the  shoemakers  in  Jof 
fashion  delightful  red  heel-less  shoes  of  soft,  pliable  hide 
without  nails,  but  with  thongs  to  bind  round  the 
ankles.  The  Tebus  make  baskets  and  rope  from  the 
palm  leaves,  but  there  is  no  weaving.  The  rich  clothes 
of  the  princely  ekhwan,  which  were  our  envy  and 
admiration,  came  from  Egypt.  "Before  the  war  there 
were  many  caravans.  One  came  nearly  every  day" 
(which  means  that  one  was  nearly  always  within  the 
confines  of  the  oasis,  perhaps  a  weekly  arrival).  "Now 
there  are  very  few,"  said  Sheikh  Mohammed. 

We  learned  that  when  a  caravan  came  from  the  Sudan 
it  consisted  of  150  camels,  belonging  to  perhaps  a  dozen 
different  merchants,  who  brought  ivory,  feathers,  sandal, 


THE  "CITIES"  OF  KUFARA  213 

leather;  but  smuggling  of  slaves  had  been  difficult  since 
the  stringent  French  law  had  decreed  that  the  whole 
caravan  should  be  confiscated  if  one  slave  were  found  in  it. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  had  been  thirty-seven  days  on  the 
route  from  Jedabia  and  we  had  not  met  a  single  caravan 
from  Wadai,  nor  did  any  arrive  while  we  were  in  Kufara; 
but  this  may  have  been  partly  due  to  the  fact  that  the 
Beduins  prefer  travelling  in  summer,  when  they  march 
all  night  and  sleep  most  of  the  day.  They  can  go  farther 
this  way,  without  suffering  from  the  intense  cold  of  the 
winter  dawn.  Also  the  winter  is  the  foaling  time  for 
camels  in  Libya,  which  makes  travelling  precarious. 

There  is  a  large  market  in  Jof  twice  a  week,  to  which 
people  come  from  as  far  off  as  Hawari  and  Tolab  to 
barter  pigeons,  eggs,  fowls,  girbas  and  foodstuffs.  Slaves 
are  not  now  sold  in  the  public  square  on  Mondays  and 
Thursdays,  but  many  a  human  bargain  is  arranged  in  the 
shuttered  houses  around  it.  For  100  mejidies  one  can 
buy  a  man  and  for  200  a  woman,  but  young  girls  of 
fourteen  and  fifteen  fetch  up  to  250  mejidies  (nearly 
£50).  "These  be  high  prices,"  said  the  Zouia  despond- 
ently. "But  the  people  in  Barca  have  bought  many 
slaves  lately  and  there  are  fewer  caravans."  We  learned 
that  the  Tuaregs  of  the  west  had  regular  slave  farms, 
where  they  bred  and  sold  human  beings  as  we  do  cattle. 
"You  can  see  sixty  slaves  in  one  farm,"  said  our  guardian 
sheikh.  As  an  instance  of  how  uncivilised  were  the  Zouias 
before  the  coming  of  the  Senussi,  he  told  us  that  a  certain 
Sheikh  Mohammed  Sherif  went  to  Benghazi,  the  end  of 
the  world,  and  came  back  with  an  oil  lamp  which  was 
looked  upon  as  a  miracle  by  the  tribesmen  of  Kufara. 
By  the  power  of  a  little  kerosene  he  ruled  them  for  years, 
giving  judgments  and  discovering  malefactors  by  inter- 
preting its  light. 

Deep  in  conversation  we  skirted  the  rough,   rocky 


214    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

ground  to  the  south  of  the  broad  belt  of  Jof  palms  and 
came  to  Talakh,  at  the  end  of  the  emerald  maze  where 
Sayed  Ahmed  owns  many  gardens.  A  whole  colony  of 
slaves  dwelt  in  clusters  of  "tukels,"  within  neat  palm-leaf 
fences  and  there  were  some  biggish  houses  of  sand  bricks, 
on  whose  flat  roofs  masses  of  dates  were  drying  in  the 
sun.  The  afternoon  was  far  advanced  by  this  time,  but 
the  Zouia  was  anxious  to  show  us  the  beauty  spot  of 
the  oasis,  so  we  rode  through  the  thickest  palm  groves 
between  mounds  of  grey  bushes  until  quite  suddenly  we 
came  to  a  little  round  lake,  whose  still  water  reflected 
every  frond  of  the  palms  drooping  round  it  under  the 
shadow  of  high  amber  banks  which  shut  in  the  pool  on 
every  side,  so  that  duck  sported  on  it  peacefully  without 
fear  of  onlookers.  It  was  a  lovely  picture,  with  the  rose- 
red  hills  in  the  distance,  but  we  were  glad  to  turn  our 
donkeys'  heads  homewards  and  still  gladder  when  the 
massive  houses  of  Taj  appeared  on  the  most  precipitous 
cliff  in  the  distance. 

The  names  of  the  villages  in  Kufara  are  interesting, 
for  whereas  Taj  means  very  suitably  "a  crown,"  and 
Jof  "inside,"  Zuruk  and  Tolab  are  the  names  of  two 
tribes  which  are  still  to  be  found  in  Egypt.  Sheikh 
Mohammed  told  us  that  they  had  helped  the  Zouias  to 
conquer  the  unfortunate  Tebu  and  had  received  the 
places  bearing  their  names  as  their  share  of  the  spoil. 
Later,  however,  they  had  grown  tired  of  the  remote 
valley  and  of  the  endless  disputes  between  Zouias  and 
Tebus,  which  lasted  till  the  coming  of  the  Senussi,  and 
had  returned  to  their  own  country. 

January  18  saw  the  virtual  end  of  our  pilgrimage.  As 
we  took  leave  of  Sidi  Saleh,  after  our  third  cup  of  mint 
tea,  he  asked  us  if  we  would  like  to  visit  the  Zawia  of 
the  Asayad.  Daily  we  had  passed  the  massive  block  of 
buildings  from  which  generally  issued  the  sound  of  the 


THE  "CITIES"  OF  KUFARA  215 

chanted  Koran.  We  knew  that  inside  those  formidable 
walls  was  the  qubba  of  the  Mahdi,  a  symbol  only,  for  the 
Senussi  believe  their  saint  still  living,  but  nevertheless, 
the  goal  of  all  Senussi  pilgrims  and  the  object  of  almost 
as  much  veneration  as  the  tomb  of  the  Prophet.  In  the 
course  of  slow,  dignified  conversation,  with  the  correct 
proportion  of  prolonged  silences,  we  had  delicately  ap- 
proached the  subject  of  visiting  the  revered  shrine,  but 
no  other  sanction  than  "Insha-allah"  had  been  vouch- 
safed us.  Time  and  date  are  never  suggested  in  the 
East.  Thus  we  had  to  wait  patiently  till  the  kaimakaan 
was  satisfied  that  the  suitable  moment  had  come. 

We  passed  through  the  large,  low  mosque  which 
joined  the  zawia.  Rows  of  great,  square,  whitewashed 
pilasters  supported  the  heavy  wooden  palm  trunks  form- 
ing the  beams  of  the  flat  roof.  It  was  utterly  unadorned 
and  the  "mimbar"  was  of  the  simplest  description,  with- 
out paint  or  carving;  yet  for  a  moment,  as  I  stood  on  the 
threshold  of  the  holy  of  holies  of  a  great  warrior  confra- 
ternity, austere  and  fanatical,  I  forgot  the  troubles  and 
dangers  of  a  long  journey.  I  understood  something  of 
the  awe  and  reverence  of  any  other  shoeless  pilgrim,  who, 
after  much  travel,  steps  at  last  from  the  white  mats  of 
the  mosque  into  the  dim  chamber  where  he  will  kiss  the 
sacred  qubba.  For  the  first  time  I  realised  the  great 
peace  which  comes  at  a  journey's  end,  yet  the  long, 
narrow  room  was  unlike  our  Western  idea  of  a  shrine. 
Nearly  the  whole  of  the  floor  space  was  occupied  by  the 
graves  of  members  of  the  Senussi  family,  oblongs  of 
desert  sand,  with  a  stone  edging  and  an  upright  slab  at 
either  end.  A  narrow  carpeted  pathway  ran  round  these 
to  the  farthest  corner  where  stood  the  qubba  of  the  Mahdi 
— an  ark-shaped  wooden  framework  covered  with  a  red 
cloth. 

As  befits  a  creed  which  forbids  all  luxury,  the  sim- 


216   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

plicity  of  the  room  was  striking.  There  was  nothing  to 
impress  the  pilgrim  except  his  own  passionate  reverence. 
His  worship  must  of  necessity  be  a  thing  of  the  spirit 
and  not  of  the  senses.  Yet  that  low  dim  chamber  in  the 
middle  of  the  Sahara  is  in  its  way  as  impressive  as 
St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  or  the  Temple  of  Heaven  in  Pekin! 
Cardinals  and  mandarins  may  bring  mixed  motives  to 
their  worship,  but  the  fierce-eyed  Beduin  in  rough  white 
burnus,  worn  wooden  rosary  hanging  from  sun-dried 
fingers,  prays  with  a  strenuous  simplicity  and  earnestness 
that  must  impress  the  very  atmosphere  with  the  sincerity 
of  his  devotion.  Thus  I  felt  as,  hands  raised  to  Heaven, 
I  murmured  the  "Bismallah  Arahman  Arahim"  under 
keen  watching  eyes;  but  when  we  passed  out  into  the 
sunlight  the  impression  faded  and  one's  guard  was  up 
again ! 

First  there  was  a  fight  with  the  blacks  who  had  become 
hopelessly  unruly.  Having  been  only  remarkable  for 
their  absence  when  there  was  any  real  danger,  they  now 
devoted  their  time  to  eating,  sleeping  and  talking  of 
their  prowess.  We,  therefore,  decided  to  send  them 
back  to  Jalo  by  the  main  caravan  route  and  go  on  our- 
selves to  Jaghabub.  This  time  the  retinue  protested  in 
vain.  We  had  suffered  too  much  from  their  fears  coming 
in  to  wish  to  return  through  the  continual  minor  panics 
of  the  Zouia  country.  The  Jaghabub  route  is  consider- 
ably shorter,  for  it  cuts  off  the  angle  of  Jalo  and,  above 
all,  it  is  utterly  unknown  to  Europeans.  As  it  necessi- 
tates at  least  twelve  days  without  water,  some  600 
kilometres,  it  is  rarely  attempted  except  by  very  large 
well-equipped  caravans,  who  can  afford  to  lose  a  few 
camels  by  the  way,  or  by  the  Senussi  family,  who  can 
send  camels  laden  with  water  on  ahead  to  fill  some 
reservoirs  especially  placed  for  the  purpose. 

We    had    seen    the    dangers    of    travelling    with    a 


THE  "CITIES"  OF  KUFARA  217 

moderately  large  and  inefficient  retinue,  so  we  now  deter- 
mined to  try  the  other  extreme.  We  proposed  to  take 
with  us  only  Mohammed  and  Yusuf,  a  guide  and  perhaps 
a  camel-man.  We  should  have  to  take  four  camels  for 
water  alone  and  another  two  at  least  for  fodder,  before 
we  could  think  of  luggage  and  provisions.  The  latter  are 
easy,  for  it  is  no  use  providing  for  more  than  seventeen 
days  at  the  outside  after  leaving  Hawawiri.  If  by  that 
time  the  traveller  is  not  safely  in  Jaghabub  he  is  dead, 
for  there  are  no  wells  on  the  route  after  leaving  Zakar, 
three  days  from  Hawawiri.  Altogether  it  would  be  an 
exciting  journey  and,  looking  at  the  blank  white  space 
on  our  survey  map,  where  not  even  Zakar  was  marked, 
we  longed  to  put  a  long  red  line  across  it.  Caravans  from 
Egypt  should  logically  do  the  Jaghabub  route  unless  they 
go  direct  from  Siwa,  which  means  an  extra  half -day 
without  water.  The  alternative  is  seven  days  to  Jalo, 
one  to  Buttafal,  then  seven  to  Zieghen  and  a  further 
five  to  Hawawiri.  The  worst  point  of  the  more  direct 
route  is  that  there  are  four  days  of  bad  dunes  just  before 
reaching  Jaghabub.  However,  anything  was  preferable 
to  trying  to  keep  the  peace  between  Beduins  and  Sudanese 
for  three  weeks,  with  the  accompanying  tale  of  sore  feet 
and  overladen  camels,  water  squandered,  fuel  all  used 
during  the  first  few  days  and  doubtless  a  delay  at  each 
well. 

We  spent  most  of  the  morning  arguing  with  the 
soldiers,  who  all  apparently  wanted  to  get  married  at 
Jaghabub,  probably  on  the  reward  they  hoped  to  get 
for  accompanying  us  there.  Then  visitors  began  to 
arrive,  which  proved  that  the  mental  atmosphere  was 
changing.  The  chilly,  doubtful  feeling  I  had  predicted 
was  beginning  to  trouble  the  Zouias  who  had  so  stormily 
swept  from  our  presence  two  days  before.  The  dark 
Hamid  Bu  Korayim  was  the  first  to  come.  He  had  been 


218   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

one  of  the  loudest  to  denounce  the  strangers.  Now  he 
said:  "I  wanted  all  the  men  to  come  out  to  meet  you 
with  drums,  but  there  was  dissension.  What  you  said 
at  the  meeting  was  true,  but  it  would  not  have  been  good 
for  me  to  have  agreed  with  you  then.  I  was  obliged  to 
support  the  others,  for  we  had  arranged  what  we  were 
going  to  say  beforehand."  This  was  a  poor  specimen 
of  Arab  mentality,  but  he  was  followed  by  an  entirely 
different  type,  Suleiman  Bu  Matar,  old  and  much- 
travelled,  very  devoted  to  the  Senussi  family.  At  the 
original  meeting  he  had  been  calm  and  suave,  only 
saying  that  we  should  waste  time  by  going  to  the  villages. 
Now  he  said  with  very  quiet  dignity,  "Your  words  were 
wise,  but  you  must  not  judge  the  people  here  by  your 
own  countrymen.  Egypt  is  the  mother  of  the  world. 
The  villagers  here  are  very  ignorant."  He  then  offered 
to  accompany  us  to  the  other  end  of  the  oasis. 

Thereafter  the  retinue  were  somewhat  less  frightened 
and  we  went  to  Jof  without  difficulty.  We  rode  along 
a  little  causeway  which  crossed  the  big,  curly  lake  in 
the  midst  of  the  Jof  palm  gardens  and  when  we  came 
to  the  rough,  salt  marsh  on  the  farther  side,  we  found 
the  ruins  of  a  whole  Tebu  village.  Some  of  the  houses 
were  amazingly  small  but  very  well  preserved — the  hard 
mortar  smooth  and  always  polished  on  the  outside — 
looking  exactly  like  round  clay  ovens.  As  at  Buma, 
on  the  very  edge  of  the  water  was  a  castle.  It  appears 
that  the  Tebus  fought  only  with  spears,  so  a  strip  of 
water  was  a  good  protection  against  attack.  Therefore, 
wherever  there  is  a  lake  in  the  Kufara  or  Buseima  oases, 
one  is  pretty  certain  to  find  the  ruins  of  villages  and 
primitive  forts.  The  Zouias  won  an  easy  victory  because 
they  had  guns  and  gunpowder.  Jof  is  a  large  native 
town  stretching  for  about  a  kilometre  in  a  line  of  solid, 
long  walls  without  door  or  window.  At  one  end  is  the 


THE  "CITIES"  OF  KUFARA  219 

old  zawia  established  by  the  ekhwan  of  Sidi  Ben  All.  It 
is  an  insignificant  building,  very  low,  with  a  dark,  bare 
mosque,  large  and  very  well  kept,  and  in  a  further  room 
a  qubba  of  the  daughters  of  Sidi  el  Mahdi.  This  tomb 
is  enclosed  in  a  green  wooden  frame  and  hung  with 
quantities  of  ostrich  eggs.  It  is  much  venerated  and  in 
one  of  the  courts  we  saw  some  pilgrims  from  Wadai, 
fierce-looking  blacks  with  rosaries  and  long  palm  staves. 
The  whole  life  of  an  Arab  town  goes  on  within  the 
high,  impenetrable  walls.  Otherwise  they  are  cities  of 
the  dead.  I  doubt  if  we  saw  a  dozen  figures  in  the  streets 
of  Jof  till  we  came  to  the  Tebu  settlement,  yet  it  has  a 
population  of  some  seven  hundred.  The  women  literally 
never  set  foot  outside  their  houses.  The  whole  time  I 
was  in  Taj  I  never  saw  a  woman  except  one  or  two 
elderly  black  slaves.  It  must  be  an  extraordinary  life 
within  a  few  square  feet  bounded  by  blind  walls.  The 
ladies  of  the  Sayeds'  families  can  visit  each  other  perhaps, 
as  in  Taj  the  houses  of  the  Senussi  family  are  adjoining. 
But  I  have  never  been  in  any  Eastern  town  where  life 
was  so  reserved  and  aloof.  Presumably  the  men  gossip, 
but  if  so,  they  do  it  in  each  other's  houses,  for  one  never 
sees  a  group  in  the  streets.  Very  occasionally  one  notices 
a  grave  figure  with  brass  ewer  or  humble  teapot,  per- 
forming the  necessary  ablution  at  sunset  before  saying 
the  obligatory  prayers,  or  perhaps  a  reflective  grey- 
bearded  individual  standing  at  an  open  door.  The  great 
difference  between  the  Senussi  towns  and  any  other  desert 
city  is  the  entire  absence  in  the  former  of  the  cafes,  which 
usually  form  the  centre  of  life  and  movement.  They 
vary  in  size  and  splendour,  but,  from  Omdurman  to 
Tuggourt,  one  finds  in  every  village  at  least  a  mud-walled 
room  with  rough  benches  and  little  tables,  or,  in  the 
more  primitive  places,  merely  a  raised  ledge  running 
round  the  walls,  where  all  the  menfolk  gossip  over  long- 


220   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

stemmed  narghilehs,  while  generally  a  dancer  performs 
some  variation  of  the  danse  du  venire.  In  Libya, 
smoking,  drinking  and  dancing-girls  are  forbidden  by 
the  Senussi  law.  Therefore  the  cafe  has  no  raison  d'etre 
and  the  towns  are  silent,  apparently  deserted,  infinitely 
discreet ! 

We  rode  all  round  the  scattered  masses  of  Jof's 
houses,  meeting  She-ib's  brother,  Ahmed  el  Khadri,  a 
well-known  Senussi  clerk,  who  greeted  us  warmly  and 
was  delighted  to  get  news  of  his  family.  Then  we 
climbed  the  little  group  of  gherds  beyond  the  town  and 
looked  down  upon  the  Tebu  village  whose  headman  is 
Sa-ad  el  Tebu.  Very  primitive  were  the  dwellings  after 
the  solid  Zouia  buildings,  for  the  greater  part  were  just 
palm-leaf  huts.  The  men  were  generally  tall  and  clad 
in  sheepskins,  the  wool  worn  inside.  Their  food,  when 
they  travel,  consists  of  powdered  locusts  and  powdered 
dates  mixed  together.  The  women  wore  only  one  long 
dark  piece  of  stuff,  wound  round  them  like  a  barracan, 
but  generally  tattered  and  somewhat  inadequate.  The 
young  ones  were  distinctly  pretty  with  charming  round 
faces,  wide,  long-lashed  eyes,  almost  black  skins,  but 
without  any  of  the  swollen  negroid  characteristics. 

As  we  rode  back  across  the  wadi  I  discovered  the  right 
adjective  for  the  cliffs  of  Kufara.  Of  course  they  were 
amber,  a  rich,  mellow  amber,  which  detracted  from  the 
green  of  the  palms,  so  that  the  gardens  of  Jof  took  on 
a  wonderful  silvery-grey  appearance  against  the  burnt 
gold  of  the  hills. 

That  night,  while  meticulously  measuring  the  just 
proportion  of  tea,  sugar  and  spice,  the  kaimakaan  offered 
to  show  us  an  original  letter  of  Sidi  Ben  Ali  es  Senussi 
to  the  people  of  Wajanga  on  the  road  to  Wadai.  I 
think  our  enthusiastic  interest  pleased  him,  for  he  at 
once  detached  an  immense  key  from  his  belt  and  gave  it 


THE  "CITIES"  OF  KUFARA  221 

to  a  slave,  who  brought  a  casket  not  much  bigger  than 
the  key.  This  was  placed  solemnly  in  the  circle  of  light 
on  the  dark-piled  carpets  and  in  the  almost  tangible 
silence  that  seemed  to  reign  within  that  house,  Sidi 
Saleh  reverently  drew  forth  a  single  sheet  of  rough  quarto 
paper,  three-quarters  of  which  was  covered  with  minute, 
old-fashioned  Arabic.  I  give  the  literal  translation  in 
the  appendix  because  the  letter  is  of  historical  importance 
as  it  announces  the  Senussi's  intention  of  accepting  the 
allegiance  of  the  Zouias,  of  coming  to  Kufara  with  the 
tacit  understanding  that  his  rule  would  be  accepted  so 
far  south  of  Wajanga.  It  was  an  exceedingly  interesting 
document  and  one  fully  appreciated  its  value  in  the 
exotic  house  of  Sidi  el  Abed  in  the  middle  of  the  legendary 
oasis. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ 

THEREAFTER  we  settled  down  for  a  day  or  two 
to  the  reserved  and  placid  life  of  Taj.  We  got 
up  shortly  after  sunrise  and  while  there  was  yet 
no  sign  of  movement  among  the  dark,  discreet  walls  we 
wandered  miles  along  the  cliffs,  trying  to  get  the  exact 
positions  of  the  various  oases  and  villages.  The  latter 
are  almost  invisible  in  some  lights,  as  they  are  made  of 
the  sand  and  stones  amidst  which  they  stand.  We 
found  that  the  wadi  narrowed  to  a  strip  to  the  north- 
east beyond  Boema,  while  to  the  west  it  widened  out 
into  a  wide  expanse  of  hattab,  high  mounds  covered 
with  sticks  and  leafless  bushes.  To  the  south-west  these 
hillocks  rose  from  twelve  to  twenty  feet  and  then 
beyond  Tolab,  which  was  too  far  away  to  be  seen  from 
our  cliffs,  the  hattab  gradually  merged  into  the  flat 
desert. 

One  morning  we  explored  the  whole  of  the  salt 
marsh,  from  whose  hard,  grey,  stony  matter  the  Tebus 
had  built  their  houses.  We  found  the  remains  of  a 
whole  village,  though  some  of  the  houses  were  but  broken 
circles  on  the  ground.  The  main  fort  had  one  chamber 
sixteen  feet  in  diameter  and  the  highest  bit  of  wall 
existing  measured  eleven  feet,  but  round  it  was  a 
crumbled  mass  of  walls  and  smaller  rooms,  or  separate 
buildings  perhaps,  as  each  was  neatly  finished  off  with 
perfectly  rounded  surface,  like  the  damp  clay  pots  one 
sees  made  on  a  rotary  wheel.  I  think  the  Tebus  must 

222 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ  223 

have  found  the  salt,  hard  sand  especially  good  for  their 
very  enduring  mortar,  for  their  ruined  villages  are  to 
be  found  only  on  marshes,  as  at  Buseima,  Buma  and 
Jof.  When  we  heard  that  there  were  Tebu  remains  in 
Taiserbo  and  actual  Tebus  in  Ribiana,  we  instantly 
concluded  that  there  were  marshes  in  these  two  oases 
and  the  idea  proved  correct. 

When  we  returned  from  our  matutinal  walks  we  had 
enough  appetite  to  cope  with  Sidi  Saleh's  prodigious 
hospitality.  Every  morning  on  the  stroke  of  nine  a 
light  tap  came  on  my  green  and  yellow  door  and  there 
was  Durur,  with  smiling  ebony  face,  ready  to  lead  us 
by  sandy  path  and  intricate  court  and  passage  to  the 
wide,  carpeted  loggia,  where  waited  our  kindly  host  to 
wave  us  into  the  long,  dark  chamber  redolent  of  roses 
and  cinnamon.  After  we  had  gravely  washed  our 
hands  in  the  Damascus  basin,  we  crouched  cross-legged 
beside  the  immense  brass  tray  and  there  was  a  moment 
of  thrilled  expectation  while  another  slave  lifted  the 
lids  of  a  dozen  dishes.  Sometimes  there  was  a  small 
carved  tray,  inlaid  with  silver,  on  which  stood  half  a 
score  of  bowls  of  sweetmeats,  stiff  blancmanges  of  all 
colours  adorned  with  almonds,  very  sweet  pastes  some- 
thing like  Yorkshire  pudding,  junket  made  of  the  milk 
of  a  newly  lambing  sheep,  all  sorts  of  date  concoctions, 
couss-couss  made  with  raisins  and  sugar,  a  white,  sticky 
cream  flavoured  with  mint.  Always  there  were  bowls 
of  sweet  hot  milk  and  piles  of  thin,  crisp,  heavy  bread 
fried  with  butter  and  eaten  hot  with  sugar,  called  in 
Egypt  "bread  of  the  judge."  Arab  custom  ordains 
that  a  guest  must  be  entertained  for  three  days  and 
three  nights,  but  the  generous  kaimakaan  would  not 
hear  of  our  getting  anything  for  ourselves.  The  story 
of  Jedabia  was  repeated  over  again.  Once  we  protested 
about  the  mighty  meals  provided  in  the  house  of  Sidi 


224   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

el  Abed  and  the  next  day,  as  a  reminder  that  the 
hospitality  of  the  East  is  unbounded  and  must  be 
accepted  with  the  simplicity  with  which  it  is  offered, 
the  number  of  dishes  was  doubled  and  there  were  no 
fewer  than  twenty  loaves  ranged  round  the  tray,  while 
the  centre  plat  was  no  longer  a  bowl,  it  was  literally 
a  bath  of  mellow,  golden  rice  in  which  lay  the  buttery 
fragments  of  a  whole  sheep.  Two  hours  each  morning 
were  spent  in  that  quiet  room  going  through  the  various 
ceremonies  dependent  on  "breakfasting."  When  the 
highly  spiced  and  peppered  coffee  was  finished,  there 
were  always  the  three  glasses  of  green  tea,  hot  and 
strong,  with  dignified  slow  conversation,  punctuated  by 
many  pauses,  while  the  brazier  smoke  made  little 
hypnotic  spirals,  and  through  the  open  door  a  splash  of 
sunlight  crept  over  the  castellated  wall  and  lingered  on 
the  purple  and  rose  of  the  carpets  between  the  great 
arches  of  the  loggia. 

About  eleven  o'clock,  scented  and  very  replete,  we 
took  ceremonious  leave  of  our  host  and  departed  slowly, 
but  the  instant  the  doors  of  Sidi  Idris's  house  closed 
on  the  last  "Aleikum  salaam"  of  the  departing  slave, 
we  dropped  the  ponderous  and  reflective  gait  suited  to 
our  exalted  position  and  ran  across  the  great  court  to 
shut  ourselves  up  in  the  "harem,"  the  only  really 
private  bit  of  the  house,  with  pencils  and  paper.  How 
we  regretted,  as  we  struggled  with  angles  and  degrees, 
the  perverse  distrust  with  which  the  Zouias  regard  even 
a  compass.  We  used  to  have  the  most  frantic  argu- 
ments about  our  primitive  maps,  but  Hassanein  was 
nearly  always  right  as  to  direction  and  I  as  to  distance, 
fruit  of  so  many  long  journeys  in  the  desert,  where  all 
landmarks  appear  three  times  as  near  as  they  really  are. 
We  worked  solidly  till  four  or  five,  though  there  were 
nearly  always  interruptions — Mohammed,  to  say  that  we 


A   TEBU    AT    AWAHDEL    IX    KUFARA 


_ouu  CAMP  AT  AWARD;;I. 


LOADING    AT    AWAUDKI. 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ  225 

should  have  to  buy  a  camel-man  for  twenty  pounds  and 
sell  him  again  at  Jaghabub,  Yusuf ,  to  say  the  girbas  still 
leaked  after  all  his  cunning  treatment,  little  Sidi  Omar, 
resplendent  in  a  wonderful  yellow  jubba,  to  hint  about 
the  scarcity  of  pocket-knives  in  Kufara,  Sheikh  Musa, 
from  Hawari,  to  tell  us  that  the  men  of  his  village  were 
too  over-awed  to  visit  us  in  the  house  of  the  Sayeds, 
but  were  exceedingly  regretful  concerning  their  reception 
of  us. 

So  the  hot  hours  wore  away  and  about  five  we 
wandered  out  to  see  the  amazing  sunsets  over  the  wadi, 
when  for  a  few  minutes  the  whole  oasis  was  dyed  in 
rainbow  flames.  Generally,  before  the  crimson  disk  had 
sunk  beyond  the  western  sands,  Surur  was  anxiously 
scanning  the  landscape  to  announce  the  dinner  hour. 
We  had  long  ago  lost  count  of  European  time.  We 
used  vaguely  to  calculate  that  the  sun  rose  at  6  A.M.  and 
set  at  6  P.M.,  but  for  all  practical  purposes  we  followed 
the  Arab  day,  which  begins  an  hour  after  sunset.  We 
set  our  watches  each  evening  to  solar  time  and  found 
ourselves  counting  the  changing  months  by  the  lunar 
year  of  Islam.  I  never  knew  what  day  of  the  week 
it  was  till  Friday  came,  when,  if  we  were  in  a  town, 
we  joined  the  stream  of  worshippers,  clad  in  their  best 
clothes,  who  wended  their  way  to  the  mosque.  In  the 
desert  the  most  learned  would  recite  the  Koran  and 
read  a  simple  form  of  prayer.  While  the  muezzin  was 
crying  the  melodious  call  to  prayer,  "La  Illaha  ill'- 
Allah!  Haya  alia  Salah!  Haya  alia  Fallah!"  from 
the  round  tower  at  the  end  of  the  zawia  wall,  we  passed 
between  the  shuttered  houses,  gravely  greeting  the  few 
white  shrouded  forms  who  crossed  our  path.  As  the 
last  appealing  yet  triumphant  "Allahu  Akhbar!"  rang 
out  to  the  evening  star  we  entered  the  first  low  door, 
and  the  oppressive  secrecy  of  the  house  shut  us  in. 


226   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

How  many  cloistered  lives  were  hidden  behind  the  little 
wooden  shutters  that  never  opened  for  dark-fringed  eyes 
to  peer  shyly  at  the  passing  strangers!  Sometimes  little 
Sidi  Omar  ran  out  to  kiss  my  hand  and  say,  "On  my 
head  and  my  eyes,  I  love  you!"  Sometimes  we  saw 
a  long  row  of  red  leather  slippers  before  one  of  the 
smaller  porches  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  white  figures 
bent  over  a  huge  platter  from  which,  with  the  right 
thumb  and  two  fingers — it  is  very  bad  form  to  dirty 
more  of  the  hand  than  this — they  ate  rapidly.  Other- 
wise the  house  kept  its  secrets  well  and  we  never  knew 
who  lived  in  it  or  how! 

After  the  evening  meal  the  atmosphere  mellowed 
with  the  candle-light  and  mint  tea.  Our  host  talked 
to  us  of  the  Sayeds  he  served,  of  their  great  history 
and  their  great  influence.  We  learned  that  Sidi  Ahmed 
es  Sherif  was  respected  and  revered  as  the  supporter  of 
the  old  regime.  He  stood  for  the  stern,  unbending 
laws  of  the  first  Senussi.  His  judgments  were  ruthlessly 
severe  and  rapidly  executed,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
unfortunate  Mukhtar.  The  malefactor  saw  only  a  stately 
white  figure,  completely  veiled,  and  from  behind  the 
snowy  cloth  came  the  immutable  words  of  judgment. 
Sayed  Ahmed  broke  men.  He  never  bent  them.  Yet 
the  older  ekhwan,  serious  and  simple,  venerated  him 
because  to  them  he  represents  the  power  of  tradition, 
the  inviolate  Islam,  fanatically  opposed  to  European 
progress.  On  the  other  hand,  Sidi  Idris  is  loved.  As 
the  son  of  the  Mahdi,  the  Senussi  saint,  the  wonder  of 
whose  works  and  words  is  rapidly  becoming  legendary, 
he  inherits  a  great  power.  The  Beduin  likes  to  worship 
something  tangible  under  Allah.  He  must  feel  con- 
vinced that  there  is  one  being  on  earth  who  blends 
spiritual  and  temporal  power  so  that  he  can  himself 
dwell  in  a  sort  of  mystic  security.  "Inshallah,  and  if 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ  227 

our  lord  Idris  wills  it!"  is  an  oft-repeated  phrase.  The 
Emir  has  a  reputation  for  justice  and  patience.  The 
former  is  as  stringent  and  as  merciless  as  that  of  his 
predecessor,  but  it  is  tempered  with  the  infinite  patience 
always  taken  to  ensure  the  whole  of  the  case  being" 
examined  before  judgment  is  given.  This  is  essential  in 
a  land  where  the  justice  of  the  Koran  is  the  only  code. 
"An  eye  for  an  eye.  A  tooth  for  a  tooth."  Drunken- 
ness is  punished  by  flogging.  The  thief  loses  his  right 
hand.  Treachery  means  death.  Sidi  Idris  is  too  good 
a  Moslem  and  too  great  a  mystic  not  to  have  secured 
the  whole-hearted  devotion  of  his  father's  followers, 
while  his  broad-minded  and  intelligent  foreign  policy  has 
secured  him  the  respect  of  the  modern  element.  The 
accord  at  Regima  was  one  of  his  greatest  triumphs.  It 
showed  his  power  in  Cyrenaica.  The  tribal  sheikhs  of 
the  coast,  almost  without  exception,  announced,  "The 
word  of  Idris  is  ours!" 

The  closing  scene  of  our  day  will  always  be  con- 
nected in  my  mind  with  the  chanting  of  the  Koran  in 
the  zawia  and  the  most  brilliant  clear  starlight,  as  we 
returned  to  our  house  in  silence,  only  broken  by  the  soft 
shuffling  of  our  heel-less  slippers  in  the  sand.  While 
the  cold  white  light  warred  with  our  candles  and  the 
melodious  words  of  "The  Book"  were  still  humming 
in  our  ears,  visitors  would  gradually  make  their  appear- 
ance: the  judge,  Osman  Quadi,  Mahmud  el-Jeddawi,  the 
wakil,  a  few  of  the  more  advanced  ekhwan,  among  whom 
was  Mohammed  Tawati,  "close  friend  of  the  Mahdi." 
The  last-named  is  partially  paralysed,  and  the  Senussi 
mind,  always  alert  for  signs  and  miracles,  explains  that, 
in  defiance  of  the  direct  orders  of  Sidi  el  Riffi,  the 
unfortunate  man  started  to  journey  north.  Before  he 
reached  Hawari  his  camel  died  and  he  himself  was 
stricken  with  paralysis. 


228   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

In  those  dim  evenings,  while  I  made  scented  tea,  the 
talk  was  a  little  less  formal.  We  learned  how  much 
the  Mahdi  had  done  for  Kufara,  for  besides  giving  it 
flowers,  fruit  and  vegetables,  he  introduced  pigeons  and 
duck  and  the  cultivation  of  grain.  He  built  the  fortress 
sanctuary  of  Taj,  where  the  wells  are  ninety  feet  deep, 
so  that  water  is  always  scarce  and  a  girba  full  is  a  gift, 
since  two  hefty  slaves  have  to  wind  up  the  heavy  buckets 
foot  by  foot.  The  site  is  well  chosen,  but  the  town 
depends  for  its  life  on  an  army  of  slaves,  for  every 
vegetable  or  flower,  every  date  and  piece  of  firewood, 
must  be  carried  up  from  the  wadi  below.  The  fuel  is 
dry  hattab  and  huge  palm  leaves.  There  is  also  charcoal 
made  in  the  valley.  The  Mahdi  instituted  the  regular 
caravan  route  to  Wadai  and  encouraged  a  very  exten- 
sive trade  between  the  Sudan  and  Cyrenaica.  He 
"miraculously"  discovered  wells  on  the  southern  route 
and  old  Sheikh  Suleiman  Bu  Matar  told  how  his  father 
had  been  with  the  saint  when  water  failed  the  caravan 
at  Sarra,  on  the  way  to  Wadai.  The  Senussi  leader 
pointed  to  a  spot  which  appeared  to  be  solid  rock  and 
bade  the  men  dig.  Hour  after  hour  they  laboured  till 
the  well  had  sunk  beyond  the  sight  of  the  watchers  up 
above.  Only  their  faith  in  the  Mahdi  could  have  made 
possible  so  gigantic  a  task,  for  the  water  did  not  appear 
till  the  almost  inconceivable  depth  of  120  "kamas"  (the 
length  of  a  man's  forearm  and  hand  from  elbow  to 
first  knuckles).  "Only  a  man  with  amazing  eyesight 
can  see  the  water  and  the  rope  is  unending,"  said 
Sheikh  Suleiman. 

We  learned  a  list  of  the  prices  in  Kufara  from  a 
ponderous  merchant  whose  striped  brown  and  yellow 
jerd  reminded  one  of  Biblical  pictures.  Hejin  (trotting 
camels),  all  of  which  belonged  to  the  Tebus,  cost  seven- 
teen to  eighteen  pounds  in  gold.  Sheep  were  five 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ  229 

me j  idles,  goats  four  and  a  half,  fowls  half  a  me j  idle, 
and  pigeons  four  and  a  half  qurush.  Eggs  were  very 
cheap — a  hundred  for  a  mejidie  (two  a  penny),  but 
sugar  was  two  mejidies  an  oke  (eight  shillings  for  two 
pounds)  and  tea  three  mejidies  an  oke.  Butter  fetched 
two  mejidies  for  three  rotls  (one  pound).  Practically 
no  other  produce  is  sold.  The  owners  of  the  gardens 
keep  their  vegetables  for  themselves.  Mahmud  el- 
Jeddawi  volunteered  much  information  about  dates. 
"This  year  the  grazing  is  good  in  Barca,  so  you  may 
buy  several  camel-loads  for  a  mejidie,  but  when  there 
is  no  grass  in  the  north  the  Zouias  come  here  with  large 
caravans  and  buy  all  our  dates,  so  that  for  a  mejidie 
you  can  purchase  but  a  few  rotls!"1  He  added  that 
many  tons  of  the  Sayeds'  dates  were  even  now  rotting, 
as  there  were  no  camels  to  take  them  away. 

"I  have  noticed  that  there  are  very  few  camels  in 
Kufara,"  I  said.  "There  are  very  few  men  also,"  he 
replied.  "The  Zouias  have  all  taken  their  camels  to 
Barca  this  year  to  feed  them  on  the  good  grass.  They 
do  this  every  winter  when  the  nagas  are  foaling,  as 
there  is  no  fodder  here.  They  leave  their  families  in 
Kufara  and  come  back  to  them  in  the  summer." 

I  used  to  get  very  sleepy  before  the  last  visitor 
departed,  having  generally  urgently  urged  us  not  to  do 
the  Jaghabub  route.  They  are  the  most  depressing  of 
Job's  comforters  with  regard  to  journeys,  for  they 
always  remember  terrible  stories  of  death  from  thirst 
or  loss  of  direction,  which  they  relate  with  infinite 
detail.  Thus  we  learned  that  the  Gebel  Fadil,  on  the 
east  of  the  Zieghen  route,  was  so  called  because  some 
twenty  years  ago  one  Jebail  Fadil  had  missed  the  well 

1  The  usual  exchange  for  paper  money  is  six  mejidies  for  one  pound,  but  for 
gold  one  receives  seven.  No  paper  money  of  any  country  is  valid  beyond 
Jedabia.  Ten  qurush  make  one  mejidie. 


230  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

at  Zieghen  on  his  way  from  Jalo  and  had  perished  in 
the  mountains  with  all  his  family.  Concerning  the 
Jaghabub  route,  the  most  encouraging  sentence  was 
generally,  "If  you  miss  it,  you  go  either  to  Siwa  or  to 
hell!"  uttered  in  a  tone  that  left  no  doubt  as  to  which 
was  the  more  probable! 

We  had  secured  the  only  guide  in  the  place, 
Suleiman,  and  we  had  ascertained  that  he  really  had 
done  the  journey  four  years  before  and  that  previous 
to  that  he  had  done  it  with  Yusuf.  He  was  a  little, 
quiet  old  man,  bent  and  grey,  of  few  words.  When 
we  asked  him  the  length  of  the  journey,  he  said, 
"Wallahi!  I  cannot  tell.  My  walk  is  twelve  days 
from  Zakar,  but  I  do  not  know  your  walk."  We 
assured  him  with  the  utmost  fervour  that  our  walk 
would  most  certainly  be  twin  brother  to  his  own,  but 
personally  I  thought  the  whole  caravan  would  probably 
sit  down  and  die  of  complete  inanition.  Hassanein  and 
I  had  never  yet  managed  to  walk  a  whole  twelve  hours 
on  end.  Mohammed  had  nearly  died  in  the  attempt. 
Yusuf  had  grown  fat  and  soft  again  on  the  rich  fare  of 
Taj,  while  Suleiman  looked  much  too  ancient  and  frail 
for  such  a  stupendous  march.  Our  weakness  was 
equalled  only  by  that  of  the  animals,  for  the  best  had 
all  foaled  and  only  the  young,  unreliable  nagas,  three 
years  old,  and  a  couple  of  ancient  camels  were  left, 
beside  the  caricature  and  various  halt  and  lame,  who 
looked  as  if  they  were  dancing  all  the  time,  because  they 
had  cut  feet!  However,  we  had  become  completely 
fatalistic.  We  proposed  to  take  vast  stores  of  water  and 
put  the  rest  of  our  trust  in  Allah. 

We  also  proposed  to  leave  Kufara  as  soon  as  possible. 
Firstly,  because  our  hosts  were  so  prodigious  in  their 
hospitality  that  we  could  not  bear  to  take  advantage  of 
it  longer  than  was  absolutely  necessary  for  our  work. 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ  231 

Secondly,  because,  though  what  may  be  called  the  party 
directly  responsible  to  the  Government  were  very  kindly 
disposed  towards  the  guests  of  their  rulers,  the  ancient 
and  old-fashioned  ekhwan  held  aloof.  They  would  not 
believe  that  any  strangers  could  have  been  given  per- 
mission to  penetrate  their  guarded  privacy.  They  were 
torn  between  their  desire  to  do  honour  to  the  Sayeds 
and  their  horror  of  diverging  a  hair's  breadth  from 
immemorial  custom.  Among  the  Zouias  there  were  now 
two  factions.  Many  had  been  infected  by  the  stories 
of  the  Bazama  family  and  Abdullah,  but  a  small  party 
had  gradually  formed  in  our  favour  under  the  leadership 
of  Suleiman  Bu  Matar. 

There  were  always,  however,  currents  and  cross- 
currents under  the  surface  which  sometimes  rippled  into 
open  suspicion.  Also  there  had  been  many  very  per- 
sistent inquiries  on  the  part  of  the  most  lawless  elements 
as  to  the  exact  date  of  our  departure  and  our  proposed 
route.  It  was  known  that  the  soldiers  would  not  be 
travelling  with  us,  so  we  should  be  an  easy  prey  if  the 
tribesmen  wanted  to  play  their  last  card.  We  there- 
fore spread  the  rumour  that  we  should  remain  at  least 
a  fortnight  longer  at  Taj  and  privately  began  to  make 
preparations  for  another  flight,  this  time  aided  anl 
abetted  by  the  kaimakaan,  who  planned  to  send  our 
little  caravan  a  day's  march  ahead  while  we  were  still 
openly  in  Taj.  Under  the  guidance  of  a  trusted  sheikh 
we  could  overtake  it  on  fast-trotting  camels. 

Meanwhile  it  was  necessary  that  we  should  investigate 
the  western  end  of  the  oasis.  For  this  purpose  Sheikh 
Suleiman  offered  himself  as  guide  and  host  combined. 
"I  will  arrange  everything,"  he  said  quietly.  "Do 
not  trouble  yourselves.  You  shall  travel  in  comfort." 
We  rather  wondered  what  represented  his  idea  of 
comfort  when  he  announced  that  we  would  start  two 


232   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

hours  before  dawn,  as  it  was  a  very  long  way.  How- 
ever, we  duly  rose  at  9  o'clock  by  night  Arabic  (3  A.M.), 
and  shortly  afterwards  a  muffled  thudding  on  the  door 
warned  us  that  our  escort  had  arrived.  We  hurried 
out,  clutching  all  available  blankets,  for  it  was  extremely 
cold.  The  moon  had  set,  so  at  first  I  thought  two 
immense  towers  had  sprung  up  in  the  night  outside  the 
house.  A  second  glance  revealed  them  as  very  tall 
hejin.  They  were  barraked  with  difficulty  and  I 
mounted  the  most  uncomfortable  saddle  I  have  ever 
met.  It  must  have  had  the  advantage  from  the  camel's 
point  of  view  of  being  exceedingly  light,  for  it  consisted 
merely  of  two  bars  about  ten  inches  apart,  across  which 
was  doubled  a  carpet,  with  an  upright  spoke  in  front 
and  behind,  but  it  had  every  possible  disadvantage  for 
the  aching  bones  of  the  rider.  Little  did  I  guess  that 
I  was  destined,  with  a  few  short  pauses,  to  spend  no 
less  than  seventeen  hours  upon  that  seat  of  torture. 
The  commandant,  Saleh  Effendi,  with  his  gold  and 
green  cloak  thrown  across  his  thickest  jerd,  and 
Hassanein  mounted  donkeys,  which  looked  microscopic 
from  my  towering  height.  Two  soldiers  perched  them- 
selves, one  behind  the  other,  on  the  second  hejin,  and 
down  into  the  wadi  we  swung,  picking  our  way  slowly 
till  we  came  to  the  massed  palms,  when  the  party  settled 
down  to  ride. 

The  silvery  stone  of  the  marsh  was  a  frozen  grey 
in  the  starlight  and  the  houses  of  Jof  but  a  blur  on 
the  low  ridge.  The  leaf  hedges  were  rustling  fingers 
stretched  out  to  bar  our  way,  and  the  great  beams  of 
the  "shadouks"  (wells)  ghostly  gibbets  in  the  shadow 
of  the  palms. 

Outside  one  of  Jof's  blind  walls  we  barraked,  when, 
after  prolonged  knocking,  a  sleepy  slave  announced  that 
Sheikh  Suleiman  was  not  yet  ready.  Arab  life  is  very 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ  233 

adaptable.  Within  a  few  minutes  of  receiving  the  news 
the  saddle  carpets  had  been  spread  in  the  shelter  of  the 
wall,  a  fire  of  palm  leaves  (sent  out  by  our  host)  lighted, 
dates  produced  from  the  same  hospitable  source  and 
we  had  all  settled  down  for  a  prolonged  wait  under  the 
still  brilliant  stars.  I  think  I  slept  for  a  few  moments, 
my  head  on  a  stone,  for  when  I  was  roused  by  a  soft 
"Salaam  Aleikum!"  the  stars  were  less  brilliant  and 
a  third  slender-limbed  hejin  was  outlined  against  the 
grey  sky.  We  set  forth  briskly  to  the  south,  and  soon 
the  long  block  of  Jof's  houses  and  the  neatly  fenced 
gardens  of  the  Sayeds  lay  behind  us.  The  donkeys  kept 
up  a  sort  of  short  amble,  while  the  camels  slipped  into 
the  tireless  swinging  stride,  half  swift  walk,  half  trot, 
the  most  comfortable  pace  in  the  world.  As  the  light 
grew  clearer  I  saw  that  mine  was  a  big  Tebesti  beast, 
palest  grey,  long-haired  and  stately,  but  not  as  finely 
bred  as  the  other  two.  They  were  the  fast  Tuareg 
breed  of  piebald  grey  and  white,  with  blue  eyes,  very 
thin,  like  greyhounds  in  their  lean  slenderness.  They 
ought  to  be  able  to  do  the  racing  trot  which  covers 
10  kilometres  an  hour. 

Through  the  dawn  we  rode  and  till  the  sun  grew  hot, 
always  west  with  a  hint  of  south.  The  large  sweep  of 
Jof  palms  disappeared  on  our  right.  Zuruk  was  left  on 
the  other  side.  Then,  as  we  came  into  the  open  space 
beyond,  where  the  large  mounds  of  hattab  begin,  we  saw 
that  we  were  leaving  the  enchanted  wadi  behind  us.  We 
skirted  the  long  strip  of  palms  which  forms  Tolelib. 
There  is  no  proper  village  in  the  oasis,  but,  scattered 
through  the  green,  one  catches  sight  of  a  few  houses  of 
the  slaves  who  tend  the  palms.  As  we  went  farther 
west  the  mounds  grew  to  hillocks  and  the  red  sand  was 
tufted  here  and  there  with  high  grass,  while  masses  of 
grey  bushes  climbed  over  the  miniature  gherds.  Four 


234  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

hours  after  sunrise,  while  yet  Tolab  was  far  ahead, 
Sheikh  Suleiman  called  a  halt.  A  cold  north  wind  had 
arisen  and  was  finding  the  old  tender  spot  in  my  shoulder, 
so  I  was  glad  when  he  chose  the  largest  sandhill  for  our 
picnic  breakfast.  Bright  scarlet  rugs  were  spread  on 
the  lee  side  for  the  men  and  a  faded  rose-red  carpet  in 
the  shelter  of  a  smaller  mound  for  me,  as  a  woman  could 
not  eat  with  the  soldiers.  I  fancy  it  would  have  hurt 
the  Zouia's  susceptibilities  if  he  had  been  obliged  to 
encounter  feminine  fingers  in  the  common  bowl. 

After  that  meal  we  had  an  idea  of  what  the  Beduin 
means  by  travelling  comfortably.  A  complete  portable 
kitchen  must  have  been  hidden  in  the  capacious  brightly 
striped  khoorgs  that  hung  on  either  side  of  the  blue- 
eyed  camel.  The  most  delicious  odours  were  soon  wafted 
from  a  pot  stewing  on  a  brushwood  fire.  A  soldier 
brought  me  a  long-necked  brass  ewer  and  a  towel  before 
my  breakfast  was  shyly  handed  me  by  an  ancient  and 
dignified  servitor  of  the  sheikh,  by  name  Mohammed, 
who  had  run  beside  his  chief  the  whole  way  from  Jof 
without  protest,  though  he  carried  a  heavy  rifle.  I  had 
been  given  a  brass  tray  of  dates  to  eat  and  I  was  con- 
templating writing  a  monograph  on  the  various  uses  of 
the  date  in  Kuf ara.  It  is  used  for  all  sweetening  purposes 
in  cooking.  Mixed  with  some  other  local  ingredient  it 
makes  a  sticky  sort  of  glue.  A  soft  date,  slightly 
squashed,  takes  the  place  of  a  cork  and  every  tin  of  oil 
is  sealed  that  way.  The  stones  apparently  make  studs 
for  the  nostrils  of  Tebu  girls.  I  feel  sure  there  are  other 
uses,  but  the  appearance  of  food  prevented  my  thinking 
of  them  that  morning  among  the  bristling  mounds  of 
hattab. 

I  lifted  a  plaited  cover  of  palm  leaves  embroidered  in 
red  and  there  were  nearly  a  dozen  hard-boiled  eggs 
surrounding  a  mound  of  crisp,  flat  bread.  Another 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ  235 

layer  of  palm  leaf  disclosed  enough  cold  lamb,  cooked  in 
red  pepper  and  onions,  to  feed  all  the  party  liberally, 
while  the  whole  was  balanced  upon  a  bowl  of  delicious 
thick  soup  full  of  vermicelli,  carrots  and  other  unknown 
vegetables.  All  was  hot  with  scarlet  strips  of  fil-fil. 
Greed  and  fear  struggled  in  my  mind,  but  the  former 
won  and  all  the  cold  north  wind  could  not  cool  my 
fevered  tongue  after  I  had  partaken  of  that  highly 
spiced  dish. 

When  a  row  of  little  tin  tea-pots  were  heating  on 
separate  piles  of  ashes,  I  joined  the  party  under  the 
larger  mound  and  we  drank  hot  sweet  tea,  which  tasted 
strongly  of  the  inside  of  the  girba  which  had  been  hidden 
underneath  the  saddle-bags.  Afterwards  there  was  half 
an  hour's  amiable  silence,  punctuated  by  rare  remarks 
chiefly  concerning  the  flora  and  fauna  of  the  wadi,  this 
being  the  least  suspicious  subject  of  conversation  we 
could  think  of  and  Mohammed  being  visibly  eager  to 
distrust.  It  could  not  be  lengthened  out  interminably 
because  there  are  no  wild  animals  in  Kufara  and  I  never 
saw  a  bird,  though  I  was  told  that  several  species,  chief 
among  them  the  wagtail-like  "abu  fasada,"  make  their 
appearance  in  March  at  the  harvest  time — the  grain  is 
a  winter  crop.  Of  insects  there  is  a  large  variety,  chiefly 
distinguished  by  their  voracious  appetites!  Cleopatra's 
asp,  a  small,  fawn-coloured  snake,  lurks  among  the  sand 
and  in  the  oasis  there  are  several  kinds  of  serpents,  large 
and  small,  most  of  them  poisonous.  We  were  assured 
that  one  large  dark  snake  measures  at  least  6  feet  and  is 
particularly  feared  by  the  natives.  Perhaps  this  is  the 
legendary  beast  of  Hawaish! 

After  our  excellent  meal  Tolab  appeared  much  nearer 
and  the  wind  much  less  strong.  We  rode  on  for  another 
couple  of  hours  and  verified  our  suspicions  that  the  wadi 
had  no  definite  end;  we  had  a  bitter  argument  as  to 


236   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

degrees,  for  we  had  not  dared  to  bring  even  a  compass, 
which  for  once  was  later  decided  in  my  favour  by  the 
setting  sun.  Then  we  turned  to  the  scattered  gardens 
of  Tolab,  where  I  saw  roses,  verbena  and  tiny  lemon 
trees,  all  neatly  tied  up  in  fibre  matting  after  the  fashion 
of  English  gardeners.  There  is  absolutely  nothing  to 
see  in  this  last  oasis  of  Kufara,  whose  sand-brick  houses 
are  scattered  round  the  cultivated  plots  without  regular 
order.  We  noticed  a  number  of  shadouks  worked  by 
small,  grey  donkeys  and  were  hurried  away  by  our  host 
to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  far-distant  Gebel  Neri,  as  he  had 
become  quite  interested  in  our  exploration.  These  moun- 
tains are  wonderful  landmarks  for  at  least  two  days  south 
and  north,  but  when  we  passed  them  on  the  way  from 
Buseima  we  had  no  means  of  judging  their  height.  We 
thought  they  might  rise  150  to  200  metres  above  the 
surrounding  country,  which  would  make  them  750  to 
800  above  sea  level,  but  this  was  only  a  guess. 

Two  and  a  half  days'  journey  north-west  of  Tolab 
lies  Ribiana,  behind  a  gara  twice  as  big  as  that  of 
Buseima.  We  were  told  that  the  population  consists  of 
about  a  hundred  Zouias  and  Tebus.  There  is  an  old 
zawia  founded  by  the  four  original  ekhwan  sent  by  Sidi 
Ben  Ali.  The  sheikh  is  Abu  Bakr.  There  is  a  salt 
marsh  between  the  mountain  and  the  strip  of  palms  some 
18  kilometres  long,  at  the  southern  end  of  which  is  the 
zawia,  while  at  the  northern  end  is  a  village  of  about 
ten  houses.  This  information  we  gathered  from  Sheikh 
Suleiman  as  we  rode  round  the  western  end  of  Tolab 
and  turned  homewards  through  the  waste  of  low  hattab 
towards  Tolelib.  Thereafter  the  hours  seemed  inter- 
minable. Nothing  ever  got  any  nearer,  while  the  saddle 
bars  felt  like  knife  blades.  The  only  break  was  when  we 
dismounted  for  the  Asr  prayers.  Eventually  we  entered 
the  northern  edge  of  Tolelib's  palms  and  were  only  too 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ  237 

thankful  when,  just  before  sunset,  the  tireless  Zouia 
called  a  halt  beside  an  immense  sandbank  and  the 
morning  meal  was  repeated. 

"We  will  take  a  glass  of  tea  to  refresh  us,"  said- 
our  host  modestly,  but  very  soon  another  savoury  mess 
was  being  stewed  in  the  capacious  pot,  while  Saleh 
Effendi  produced  fresh  mint  leaves  wrhich  had  been  given 
him  at  Tolab.  This  time  everyone  ate  swiftly,  plunging 
great  chunks  of  bread  into  the  basin  of  stewed  vegetables 
and  meat,  but  once  again  I  was  provided  with  a  separate 
meal  tastefully  arranged  on  wicker  plates.  In  half  an 
hour  we  were  in  the  saddle  again,  but  the  animals  were 
tired  and  the  sunset  blazed  behind  us  before  we  drew 
near  the  dark  shadow  of  Zuruk.  A  three-quarter  moon 
mingled  her  silver  light  with  the  red  of  the  flaming  west 
and  the  amber  sands  reflected  the  most  extraordinary 
colours,  which  changed  in  the  unreal  light  like  the  trans- 
formation scene  in  the  pantomime.  The  pace  was  just 
too  quick  to  walk  in  the  soft,  deep  sand,  so  I  had  to  cling 
to  my  painful  saddle  for  another  three  hours.  In  star- 
light we  had  left  Jof.  In  starlight  we  returned  to  it, 
steering  by  a  glazing  fire  set  to  guide  us  to  the  gardens 
of  Sayed  Rida,  from  where  Mahmud  el-Jeddawi  had 
asked  us  to  bring  some  sacks  of  dates,  probably  for  our 
own  journey.  The  scene  of  the  early  morning  was  re- 
peated, for  the  Sayed's  black  slaves,  fantastic  figures  in 
tattered  sacking  or  shreds  of  cotton,  brought  bundles  of 
palm  leaves  for  a  fire  and  poured  a  great  pile  of  hard 
golden  dates  on  to  a  huge  wroven  platter.  We  crunched 
these  as  we  rested  our  aching  bones  on  hastily  spread 
carpets,  while  more  and  more  ebony  figures  joined  the 
group  and  just  the  heads  of  the  camels  solemnly  chewing 
the  cud  came  into  the  circle  of  wavering  firelight  under 
the  stars. 

The  last  hour's  ride  was  very  slow,  for  the  hejin  were 


238  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

unaccustomed  to  carrying  loads,  but  it  was  done  to  the 
accompaniment  of  marriage  music  from  the  town  and 
wild  "ulla-la-een"  of  women,  mixed  with  firing  of  guns 
and  beating  of  drums.  "He  is  taking  a  very  little  girl. 
She  is  only  thirteen,"  said  Saleh  Effendi  of  the  bride- 
groom. I  thought  of  the  woman-child  in  her  stiff,  heavy 
draperies,  clinging  shyly  and  desperately  to  the  veil 
which  she  would  so  soon  have  to  raise  for  an  unknown 
man,  the  stranger  to  whom  her  parents  had  given  her! 

Yusuf  and  Mohammed  were  waiting  for  us  at  the 
top  of  the  cliff — two  unrecognisable  figures  entirely 
muffled  in  immense  woollen  jerds.  With  the  usual  Arab 
cheerfulness  they  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  we 
had  already  been  murdered  by  the  Zouias! 

The  attitude  of  the  two  men  had  been  very  charac- 
teristic during  our  stay  at  Taj.  Both  knew  by  this  time 
that  the  object  of  the  expedition  was  to  write  a  book 
about  the  country.  Both  believed  it  must  be  for  the 
good  of  the  Senussi  since  we  travelled  under  the  Sayeds' 
protection,  but  after  this  they  differed.  Yusuf  felt  that 
he  had  accomplished  his  duty  when  we  arrived  safely  in 
Kufara.  He  was  delighted  that  we  were  well  received 
and  hospitably  entertained  by  the  Government,  for  he 
thought  that  we  should  be  impressed  by  the  generosity 
of  the  Sayeds.  Mohammed  felt  instinctively  that  we  did 
not  need  impressing  and  all  he  wanted  was  that  the  work 
of  Sidi  Idris  should  be  successfully  achieved.  Both  were 
conscious  of  the  undercurrent  of  unrest.  Yusuf,  treating 
us  as  strangers  and  himself  as  one  of  the  people  of  Ku- 
fara, explained  to  us  with  perfect  justice  that  the  position 
was  largely  due  to  our  own  mistakes.  Often  we  had 
trusted  the  wrong  people.  Often  I,  alas,  had  forgotten 
the  nice  shades  of  Moslem  feminine  behaviour  in  my  thirst 
for  knowledge.  Mohammed  swept  aside  all  these  points. 
He  counted  that  Sidi  Idris  and  he  and  we  were  all  pitted 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ  239 

for  the  moment  against  those  who  hampered,  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  the  work  of  the  Sayed.  There- 
fore he  used  to  encourage  us  in  friendly  fashion,  gather 
news  for  us,  explain  exactly  how  we  should  treat  such 
and  such  a  rumour  and  urge  us  to  persevere.  Yusuf 
always  laboured  to  vindicate  the  honour  of  the  Sayeds. 
Mohammed,  knowing  that  no  vindication  was  necessary, 
laboured  to  accomplish  through  us  the  task  he  had  been 
given  so  many  weeks  before  in  Jedabia.  The  one  thought 
in  terms  of  couss-couss  and  padded  camel-saddles,  the 
other  in  something  he  vaguely  termed  work,  but  which, 
of  course,  should  logically  have  been  the  pencils  and  note- 
books he  distrusted! 

The  day  after  our  long  expedition  to  Tolab  was 
El  Gumma,  so,  luckily,  breakfast — a  mighty  bowl  of 
pigeons,  eggs  and  carrots — was  sent  to  our  house  and 
we  stayed  indoors  till  it  was  time  for  the  noon  prayers, 
announced  by  the  muezzin  and  by  a  runner  who  knocked 
at  the  outer  door  of  each  house  with  his  cry  of  in- 
vitation ever  repeated.  Hassanein  clothed  himself  in 
the  cleanest  jerd  and  departed  to  the  zawia  with  the 
devout  Mohammed.  I  slipped  into  an  outer  room  beyond 
the  mosque,  for  there  was  no  place  in  the  latter  for 
women,  and  watched  the  impressive  scene,  discreetly 
hidden  behind  a  pillar.  All  the  ekhwan  were  present  in 
their  most  resplendent  silk  jubbas,  with  snowy  veils 
above  their  many-coloured  kufiyas.  They  made  splashes 
of  vivid  red,  orange  and  green  among  the  coarse  white 
jerds  of  the  Beduins.  After  the  last  "Azzan,"  with 
sound  of  fife  and  drum,  escorted  by  a  guard  of  soldier 
slaves  in  their  gala  attire,  khaki  with  sundry  embroideries, 
the  kaimakaan  arrived  in  state  with  Sidi  Mohi  ed  Din 
and  Sidi  Ibrahim  the  sons  of  Sayed  Ahmed  Sherif  and 
Sidi  Senussi,  son  of  Sidi  el  Abed.  His  usual  grave 
dignity  was  accentuated  as  he  mounted  the  "mimbar,"  a 


240   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

massive  figure  in  striped  rose  and  purple  silk,  with  em- 
broidered blue  jacket  underneath  a  gorgeous,  many- 
tasselled  kufiya,  stiff  with  gold  thread,  over  his  spotless 
white  turban,  from  which  depended  the  finest  silk  and 
wool  veil.  In  delivering  the  usual  Friday  speech  he 
asked  the  prayers  and  benediction  of  Allah  for  the  four 
earliest  Caliphs,  Abu  Bekr,  Omar,  Othman  and  Ali,  and 
for  twelve  other  sainted  followers  and  friends  of  the 
Prophet.  After  the  prayer  a  solemn  procession,  headed 
by  the  sons  of  the  Senussi  Sayeds,  passed  in  ponderous 
silence  save  for  the  rustling  of  bare  feet  on  palm  mats 
to  the  dim  inner  chamber  to  salute  the  qubba  of  the 
Mahdi. 

If  it  be  possible  for  Taj  to  be  more  dignified  and 
impressive  than  usual,  it  achieves  that  effect  on  El 
Gumma,  for  all  day  one  catches  glimpses  between  the 
dark  walls  of  the  richly  garbed  ekhwan  moving  slowly, 
silk  jerds  carefully  raised  above  the  sand.  After  the  Asr 
prayers  the  deputation  of  four  who  had  received  us,  the 
Judge,  Sidi  Saleh,  Sidi  Ahmed  es  Senussi  and  Sidi  Omar, 
came  to  bid  us  the  city's  formal  farewell,  though  we 
were  not  expected  really  to  leave  for  several  days.  The 
visit  was  meant  tactfully  to  imply  that  we  were  now  free 
of  official  receptions  and  banquets,  though  Arab  hos- 
pitality could  only  be  satisfied  by  privately  sending  large 
meals  to  our  house  while  we  remained  in  Taj.  We  lured 
the  judge  and  the  portly  dignitaries  into  our  sunlit  court, 
but  they  were  terrified  at  being  photographed.  We  had 
to  treat  them  like  children  at  the  dentist's  and  keep  up  a 
flow  of  laughing  conversation  about  the  painlessness  of 
the  operation,  while  they  huddled  pathetically  together 
for  comfort  and  support! 

Later  in  the  day  we  were  visited  by  Hasan  and 
Husein  Bazama  from  Ribiana.  Relations  of  the  men  who 
had  spread  so  many  false  reports  about  us,  they  doubtless 


CAMP  AT  MEHEMSA:    YUSUF,  MOHAMMED  AXD  A.MAR 


THE    AUTHOR  ASLEEP    OX    A    CAMEL 


JAGHABUB 


WELL    IX    ZA\VIA    AT    JAGHABUB 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ  241 

came  to  Taj  in  the  first  place  to  discover  how  much  of 
their  kinsmen's  tale  was  true.  Finding  us  the  guests  of 
Sidi  Idris,  they  decided  the  larger  part  must  be  incorrect. 
Hasan  was  dark  and  lean  and  altogether  too  reminiscent 
of  Abdullah  to  please  me,  but  his  brother  was  a  nice  little 
plump  person,  kindly  disposed  towards  the  world  in 
general  and  most  unusually  truthful  for  a  Beduin,  for 
when  his  elder  brother  tried  to  sell  us  a  camel  he 
remarked,  in  a  small,  plaintive  voice,  "He  is  a  very  old 
camel." 

By  this  time  we  had  learned  how  to  make  Arab  tea. 
It  must  have  been  a  good  brew  that  day,  for  the  brothers 
verified  all  Sheikh  Suleiman's  information  about  Ribiana 
and  urgently  invited  us  to  visit  it.  We  politely  refused, 
having  seen  quite  enough  of  these  lonely  strips  of  palms 
with  a  few  deserted,  dark  red  houses.  They  seemed 
slightly  hurt,  so  we  explained  that  our  camels  really 
could  not  be  expected  to  do  an  extra  week's  travelling 
before  the  long  Jaghabub  trip.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  we 
were  very  much  troubled  about  our  caravan.  Five  of 
the  nagas  had  foaled  and  could  not  be  taken  away  from 
their  offspring.  We  had  given  the  soldiers  six  camels  for 
their  homeward  journey  via  Zieghen  and  Jalo  and  they 
complained  bitterly  about  the  inadequacy  of  the  number. 
Moraja  had  married  the  pale,  dark-eyed  woman  who  had 
travelled  with  us  from  Buseima  and  he  wanted  to  take 
his  wife  back  to  Jedabia  with  him.  Abdul  Rahim  very 
naturally  refused,  as  already  they  had  insufficient  trans- 
port. The  sergeant  was  furious  and  threatened  to  stay 
behind,  but  we  were  no  longer  interested  in  their  troubles, 
having  quite  enough  of  our  own. 

The  girbas  we  bought  in  the  suq  were  too  new  to  be 
safe  and  we  were  desperately  afraid  of  losing  our  water. 
Suleiman,  the  guide,  suddenly  announced  that  only  the 
Asayed  ever  went  to  Jaghabub  and  that,  as  nobody  had 


242   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

travelled  that  way  for  more  than  three  years,  the  one  well 
at  Zakar  would  not  only  be  filled  up,  but  probably  covered 
by  a  dune!  As  the  water  was  very  far  away  it  might 
take  three  days  to  dig  down  to  it.  Worst  of  all,  we  had 
only  seven  camels.  Four  of  these  must  carry  water  and 
two  fodder.  This  left  only  one  for  food  for  six  persons, 
their  luggage  and  tents! 

We  tried  to  hire  Tebu  camels  at  an  exorbitant  price, 
but  found  that  nobody  would  let  their  beasts  go  north 
in  mid-winter,  for  the  camels  have  very  thin  coats  in 
Kufara  and  generally  die  when  they  reach  a  colder  cli- 
mate. I  explained  that  there  had  been  no  difference  in  the 
temperature  of  Aujela  and  Taj,  but  was  told  that  the 
Jaghabub  route  would  be  bitterly  cold  and  the  winds 
almost  intolerable.  With  this  pleasant  thought  in  mind 
we  suggested  buying  a  couple  of  camels,  but  there  was 
none  to  be  sold  except  the  ancient  Bazama  beast,  already 
shivering.  "He  will  die  on  the  way,"  said  Yusuf,  hating 
to  make  a  bad  bargain.  "I  don't  mind  if  he  does,  pro- 
viding he  will  last  four  or  five  days  beyond  the  Zakar 
well.  We  shall  have  drunk  his  load  by  then  and  shall 
not  need  him  any  more,"  I  said.  "Do  you  think  he 
will  break  down  before  then?"  Yusuf  would  not  commit 
himself.  "One  could  see  it  in  his  eye  if  he  meant  to 
die  in  two  days,"  was  all  he  vouchsafed. 

Our  friend  Mahmud  el-Jeddawi  bestirred  himself 
energetically  on  our  account  and,  after  searching  most 
of  Jof,  he  triumphantly  produced  the  most  amazing 
camel  I  have  even  seen.  It  looked  as  if  a  portion  of  it 
had  been  left  out  in  the  making.  We  all  walked  round 
it  in  mystified  silence  to  discover  what  was  missing.  It 
had  the  self -satisfied  expression  of  a  short,  plump,  curry- 
loving  Indian  colonel  and  most  certainly  there  was  some- 
thing odd  about  its  shape.  I  looked  at  Yusuf  appealingly. 
"It  is  very  woolly."  "Yes,  it  has  much  wool,"  he 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ  243 

said  with  polite  despair.  We  decided  not  to  purchase  it 
and  were  rewarded  at  the  last  moment  by  the  production 
by  a  Tebu  of  a  really  magnificent  camel,  half  hejin  and 
half  beast  of  burden.  Its  price  was  very  high,  two 
hundred  mejidies,  but  we  did  not  even  wait  to  bargain. 
It  was  too  necessary  to  us.  We  hated  letting  it  go  out 
of  our  sight  for  a  moment,  but  its  master  insisted  that 
we  could  not  have  it  till  the  following  day  and  we  were 
obliged  to  let  the  caravan  start  without  it. 

This  time  the  flight  was  well  arranged,  though  it  was 
precipitated  by  another  of  Abdullah's  darts.  We  learned 
that  he  had  been  spreading  far  and  wide  a  story  that  the 
venerated  Sidi  Ahmed  el  Rifi,  teacher  and  adviser  of 
the  Mahdi,  had  prophesied  disaster  to  any  stranger  who 
travelled  on  the  Jaghabub  route.  "It  is  a  sacred  road 
between  our  two  holy  places,"  he  had  said.  "It  is  for 
the  Sayeds  and  their  followers  only.  Nobody  else  may 
go  safely  by  it!"  Whether  the  saying  had  other  origin 
than  the  twisted  brain  of  Abdullah  we  did  not  know, 
but  it  might  have  a  distressing  effect  on  the  easily  roused 
fanaticism  of  the  retinue.  We  therefore  hurried  the 
small  caravan  off  early  one  morning  with  the  nominal 
destination  of  Hawari,  because  there  was  a  certain  amount 
of  grazing  in  the  neighbourhood  and  it  would  be  natural 
for  the  camels  to  rest  there  for  a  week  or  ten  days  before 
starting  for  Jaghabub.  As  a  matter  of  fact  they  skirted 
the  village  and  main  oasis  and  camped  in  an  isolated  palm 
grove  some  miles  farther  on  where  their  presence  was 
little  likely  to  be  suspected. 

Next  day  we  made  obvious  preparations  for  a  tour 
in  the  wadi  and  then,  just  after  sunset,  while  all  the 
devout  inhabitants  of  Taj  were  occupied  with  their 
prayers,  we  slipped  out  of  our  discreet  little  door, 
wandered  carelessly  round  a  projecting  wall  and  found 
two  camels  ready  saddled  in  charge  of  a  plaintive  Yusuf , 


244    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

who  hated  the  idea  of  travelling  in  a  strong  north  wind, 
bitterly  cold.  Muffled  in  coarse  jerds,  only  our  new 
primrose  leather  boots  with  crimson  uppers  laced  with 
scarlet  thongs  apparent  to  the  public  gaze,  we  plodded 
out  of  the  little  town  followed  by  Yusuf,  Suleiman  and 
a  fortnight-old  foal!  The  wind  was  so  strong  that  we 
hardly  cast  a  backward  glance  at  the  oasis  which  had 
shown  us  so  much  in  so  short  a  time. 

It  was  a  complete  chapter  of  life  we  left  behind. 
We  felt  that  we  had  studied  its  pages  thoroughly,  but 
we  knew  that  we  had  not  read  all  that  lay  between  the 
lines!  Through  a  glass  darkly  we  had  been  allowed  a 
glimpse  of  an  unsuspected  civilisation  aloof  from  our 
own  and  utterly  different.  For  a  few  days  we  had  moved 
amidst  the  friendship  and  enmity  of  a  rigidly  isolated 
religious  fraternity,  feeling  something  of  their  remote 
fanaticism,  much  of  their  warm  generosity,  a  little  of 
the  almost  pathetic  simplicity  which  underlay  their  plots 
and  counterplots.  Yet  we  were  ever  strangers  in  a 
strange  land,  welcome  to  their  dignified  hospitality,  but 
never  admitted  for  a  minute  to  the  inner  workings 
of  their  minds.  Some  glimpses  we  caught  behind 
the  scenes.  Some  threads  to  unravel  the  unspoken 
mysteries  were  put  into  our  hands  later  by  a  suddenly 
talkative  Yusuf,  but  the  secrets  of  Taj  are  still  safe 
with  us! 

Each  one  must  unravel  them  for  himself,  for  no 
traveller  may  tell  when  he  has  once  crossed  the  threshold, 
not  only  of  the  great  house  on  the  cliff,  but  of  the  life 
of  these  people  where  each  man's  brain  is  an  island  in 
itself  whose  secrets  are  as  jealously  guarded  as  the  oasis 
is  by  nature.  The  desert  had  paid  us  her  debt.  We  had 
conquered  her  waterless  desolation  and  her  perilous  dunes. 
We  had  won  the  right  to  her  secret  and  generously  she 
showed  it,  yet  we  knew  she  grudged  us  our  triumph. 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ  245 

As  the  dark  stone  houses  disappeared  swiftly  into  the  red 
sand  and  black  rocks,  so  that,  looking  back  after  a  few 
minutes  one  might  believe  one  had  dreamed  of  the  wadi 
and  its  people,  I  wondered  what  price  we  should  pay 
for  our  knowledge. 

Behind  the  first  ledge  of  rocks  a  gnome-like  figure, 
green-hooded  and  cloaked,  rose  suddenly  beside  a  micro- 
scopic grey  donkey,  while  another,  unrecognisably  dis- 
guised by  a  scarlet  handkerchief  which  left  but  an  eye 
visible,  appeared  with  a  most  unwilling  sheep.  They 
were  the  commandant,  Saleh  Effendi,  sent  to  accom- 
pany us  to  our  first  camp,  and  a  soldier  to  slaughter 
the  sheep  in  our  honour.  Subdued  greetings  were  hardly 
finished  when  a  portly,  panting  figure,  white  jerd  blow- 
ing wildly  over  a  dark  blue  jubba,  turban  and  spectacles 
slightly  awry,  hurried  over  the  rocks.  It  was  Sayed 
Ahmed  es  Senussi  come  to  give  us  a  last  blessing  with 
many  injunctions  to  the  guide  to  look  after  us  well. 
After  the  "Fatha"  had  been  gravely  repeated,  he 
clutched  Yusuf's  sleeve  and  murmured  mysteriously, 
"Will  you  not  halt  your  caravan  round  the  next  gherd, 
as  I  wish  to  send  out  to  you  food  for  your  journey — 
meat,  bread  and  rice!"  In  a  still  lower  voice  he 
explained  that  many  of  the  friendly  ekhwan  had  wished 
to  feast  us,  but  had  been  afraid  of  hurting  the  feelings 
of  the  kaimakaan,  who  looked  upon  us  as  his  guests. 
Arab  custom  ordains  that  when  a  stranger  comes  to  a 
town,  any  man  who  visits  him  afterwards  sends  food  to 
him  or  feasts  him  in  his  house.  Therefore,  the  ekhwan 
had  been  in  some  difficulty.  Either  they  broke  their 
laws  of  hospitality  or  they  ran  counter  to  the  generous' 
wishes  of  the  kaimakaan,  or  they  failed  in  respect  to 
the  Sayed  by  not  visiting  the  guests  in  his  house!  We 
remembered  that  the  sons  of  Sayed  Ahmed  Sherif  and 
Sayed  el  Abed,  boys  between  fourteen  and  seventeen, 


246    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

had  often  waited  to  greet  us  as  we  left  the  house  of 
Sidi  Saleh.  "We  wanted  to  see  if  the  Sitt  Khadija 
wears  the  same  clothes  as  our  ladies/'  one  had  said 
shyly,  but  they  were  frightened  of  being  photographed, 
the  idea  being  that  if  one  possesses  a  picture  of  a  person 
one  possesses  also  his  soul,  or  at  least  a  certain  hypnotic 
power  over  him. 

We  were  obliged  regretfully  to  decline  the  delightful 
offer  of  Sidi  Ahmed,  as  speed  was  necessary.  There- 
fore, we  hurried  north  as  fast  as  our  odd  little  procession 
— camels,  donkey,  sheep  and  foal — would  go.  The  wind 
dropped  after  the  first  three  hours  and  a  feeble  moon 
rose  in  a  clear,  translucent  sky.  It  was  a  night  of 
colour  so  marvellous  that  it  was  unreal.  I  knew  the 
strange  tricks  moonlight  could  play  in  the  desert,  but 
only  once  before  had  I  seen  such  startling  effects 
and  that  was  in  Chu  Chin  Chowf  White  moon- 
light on  white  sand  makes  an  iridescent  silvery  sea, 
cold,  almost  cruel  in  its  pale  intangibility.  But  this 
was  a  golden  light  on  an  amber-red  world  and,  except 
that  one  could  not  see  so  far,  it  was  as  clear  as  the 
day.  The  palm  trees  were  shades  of  sapphire,  silvered 
at  the  edge,  and  their  shadows  hot,  clear-cut  purple. 
We  rode  through  a  world  so  wonderful  that  when 
we  had  skirted  the  dreaming  village  of  Hawari  and 
completely  lost  our  way  in  the  oasis  beyond — the  infalli- 
bility of  guides  is  a  very  brittle  myth  in  Libya — we 
hardly  minded,  but  with  jerds  flung  back  we  revelled 
in  unutterable  stillness  and  colour  >  onceivable.  Even 
after  we  had  turned  two  complete  circles  and,  with 
a  waning  moon,  unexpectedly  discovered  our  camp 
discreetly  hidden  in  a  hollow  between  great  clumps 
of  palms  and  what  looked  like  mimosa  trees,  we  could 
not  go  into  the  tent,  though  it  was  one  of  the 
coldest  nights  we  had  had.  We  sat  outside  amidst 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ  247 

the  violet  and  amber  and,  in  spite  of  dates  and 
cinnamon  bread,  wondered  how  soon  we  should 
wake  up ! 

Our  desire  for  a  swift  and  secret  departure  from  the 
palm  grove  near  Hawaii  was  frustrated  by  the  non- 
arrival  of  our  new  camel  till  the  afternoon  of  the  follow- 
ing day.  By  this  time,  of  course,  most  of  the  population 
of  the  neighbouring  village  of  Awardel  was  in  our  camp. 
The  Zouias  were  most  friendly  and  terribly  curious. 
Their  shrewd,  suspicious  eyes  and  pale,  mean  faces 
encircled  my  tent  all  day,  hoping  to  catch  a  glimpse 
to  satisfy  their  curiosity,  but,  out  of  sheer  perversity,  I 
smothered  my  face  in  the  barracan  and  then  snapshotted 
them  when  they  were  not  looking! 

Unfortunately,  I  had  left  behind  something  of  a 
reputation  as  a  doctor,  nature  presumably  having  taken 
my  patients  in  hand  after  my  departure,  so  all  day 
long  my  tent  was  thronged^  by  women  with  the  most 
mysterious  maladies.  The  poorer  ones  crouched  outside, 
their  scarlet  woollen  barracans  an  effective  contrast  to 
their  black  tobhs,  the  most  picturesque  combination  I 
had  yet  seen.  The  wives  of  important  sheikhs  were 
ushered  into  my  tent  and  the  flaps  closed  after  them 
by  jealous  male  relatives.  If  they  were  young  they 
would  not  uncover  their  faces  even  to  me,  but,  mute, 
huddled  bundles  of  voluminous  draperies,  with  at  least 
three  barracans  of  rich  dark  weaving  one  over  the  other, 
they  sat  on  my  camp  bed  while  an  ancient  crony  trans- 
lated their  needs.  They  wanted  me  to  feel  skin  diseases 
through  layers  of  garments,  prescribe  for  invisible  eyes 
and  generally  guess  at  their  ailments  from  the  descrip- 
tions of  their  elderly  relatives,  who  urged  them  at  in- 
tervals, entirely  without  effect,  not  to  be  afraid.  Their 
jewellery  interested  me,  for  they  wore  bracelets  like 
gauntlets  of  thin  beaten  silver,  reaching  half-way  from 


248    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

wrist  to  elbow,  and  odd  flat  rings,  big  and  thin  as  a 
five-shilling  piece. 

The  day  ended  with  a  violent  quarrel  between 
Mohammed  and  Abdullah,  who  was  to  return  with  the 
soldiers  to  Jedabia,  because  the  kaimakaan  thought  Sidi 
Idris  would  punish  him  more  severely  than  he  had  power 
to  do.  The  guide  had  told  Mohammed  he  would  beat 
his  nose  flat,  apparently  an  appalling  insult,  for  the 
uproar  was  prodigious  and,  in  the  middle  of  it,  while 
everyone  was  shouting  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  our 
trusted  retainer  wept  like  an  infant!  He  was  only 
comforted  by  permission  to  buy  a  slave-girl  he  coveted. 
"She  has  walked  all  the  way  from  Darfur,"  he  said, 
"so  she  can  walk  to  Jaghabub  with  us."  But  we 
persuaded  him  to  send  her  to  Jalo  later  on.  The  caravan 
was  already  overloaded  without  the  ebony  maiden's  food 
and  water,  though  we  were  horribly  tempted  to  take 
her  when  we  heard  she  was  a  good  cook.  As  camel-men 
were  scarce  at  the  moment  in  Kufara  and  fetched  very 
high  prices,  we  had  taken  Mohammed's  follower,  Amar, 
instead.  He  was  a  plucky  and  willing  boy,  a  pupil  from 
the  Jaghabub  zawia,  but,  alas,  no  cook!  The  way  he 
ruined  our  treasured  rice  was  little  short  of  a  tragedy. 

The  evening  of  January  24  was  spent  in  a  pursuit 
that  was  becoming  habitual,  that  of  sorting  our  rapidly 
diminishing  baggage  to  see  what  could  be  left  behind. 
This  time  the  tent  and  camp  beds  had  to  go.  There 
would  be  no  time  to  put  up  a  tent  on  the  Jaghabub 
route.  With  our  small  and  somewhat  feeble  retinue, 
after  walking  twelve  hours  a  day,  probably  against  a 
strong  wind,  by  the  time  the  camels  were  attended  to 
and  the  rice  or  flour  cooked,  one  would  have  no  energy 
left  to  struggle  with  tent  pegs.  The  most  one  could 
hope  for  would  be  a  flea-bag  on  the  ground  sheet  in  the 
inadequate  shelter  of  a  zariba  made  of  our  food  and 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  TAJ  249 

fodder  sacks.     We  now  had  one  suit-case,   a  sack  of 
provisions  and  two  rolls  of  bedding.     "We  might  put 
the  ground  sheets  in  the  bedding,"  I  said  casually,  look- 
ing round  the  pathetically  small  pile  of  our  belongings 
to  see  if  we  could  possibly  do  without  anything  else. 
"Your  flea-bag   is   the   thinnest.      We    had    better   put 
it  in  between  the  flaps."     I  thought  there  was  a  certain 
nervousness  in  Hassanein's  eyes  as  we  undid  the  bulky 
roll,  but  I  did  not  quite   understand  it,   even  when  a 
bottle  of  amber  eau-de-Cologne  and  an  immense  attache 
case  fell  out,  scattering  a  complete  manicure  set  in  the 
sand.     I  was  quite  used  to  this  sort  of  thing  by  now, 
but  I  was  mildly  surprised  when  a  violent  protest  fol- 
lowed my  efforts  to  insert  the  waterproof  sheet.     "Take 
care!    Take  care!    You  will  hurt  yourself!"    "What  on 
earth  do  you  mean?    Woollen  flea-bags  don't  bite!"   The 
thought   struck   us  both  instantaneously  that  this   was 
hardly  correct  at  the  moment  and  we  were  both  laugh- 
ing when  suddenly  a  pain  that  could  hardly  have  been 
inflicted  by  even  the  largest  Libyan  bug  shot  through 
my    hand.      "What    is    that?"    I    gasped,    and    pulled 
out  a  very  large,  sharp  saw!    For  one  horrible  moment 
I  thought  my  companion  had  developed  tendencies  to 
homicidal  mania  as  I  stood  open-mouthed  with  the  tool 
in  my  hand.     "I've  hidden  that  damned  thing  in  my 
bedding  for  three  months  and  whenever  I  turned  over 
it  ran  into  my  shoulder  and  I've  cut  myself  on  it  three 
times!"   he   said  viciously.      "But  why,   why,   why?"    I 
could  only  stutter.     "I  thought  it  would  be  so  useful," 
was  the  reply.    Visions  of  the  treeless  desert,  with  no  tuft 
of  moss  or  blade  of  grass,  must  have  crossed  both  our 
minds   simultaneously,   for   almost   before   I    could   ask 
feebly,  "What  did  you  mean  to  cut?"  he  said,  "I  don't 
know.    I  just  felt  it  would  come  in  useful — to  make  things 
with,"  he  added  hastily  under  my  baleful  eye.     "But  I 


250   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

didn't  want  you  to  see  it.  I  knew  you  would  laugh." 
"Laugh!"  I  exclaimed  scornfully,  sucking  my  finger- 
tips. "After  all,  you  needn't  make  such  a  fuss!  It's 
no  worse  than  your  bread!"  and  I  remembered  the  days 
on  the  way  to  Taiserbo  when  I  had  insisted  on  treasuring 
a  piece  of  ten-day-old  bread  in  my  knapsack  with  much 
the  same  sort  of  feeling  that  "it  might  come  in  useful." 
My  companion,  unlawfully  in  search  of  matches — the 
only  things  we  refused  to  share  were  matches  and  soap, 
though  we  never  used  the  latter — cut  his  hand  badly  on 
the  rough,  sharp  edge  of  my  precious  loaf  and  thereafter 
spoke  of  food  as  the  most  dangerous  element  in  the 
desert ! 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THROUGH  THE  MOUNTAINS 

LOADING  the  camels  on  January  25  was  some- 
thing of  a  difficulty.  The  whole  male  population 
of  Hawari  came  out  to  help  or  to  hinder,  while 
various  shrouded  female  forms  lurked  in  the  shadows  of 
palm  clumps  hoping  to  exchange  a  few  eggs  for  green 
tea,  but  we  had  left  our  last  stores  at  Kufara,  so  could 
do  no  bartering.  A  young  merchant  from  Wadai 
offered  us  crimson-dyed  leather  at  three  and  a  half 
mejidies  for  a  whole  goatskin.  He  would  easily  make 
his  fortune  among  London  boot  shops!  That  morning 
was  another  revelation  of  Zouia  character,  for  if  we  left 
anything  out  of  sight  for  a  minute  it  disappeared.  I 
lost  my  pet  woolly  scarf  which  I  used  to  roll  round 
underneath  my  thin  cotton  garments,  my  only  protec- 
tion against  the  north  winds.  Mohammed  politely 
spread  his  rug  for  two  venerable  ekhwan  to  sit  upon. 
A  few  moments  later  they  and  it  vanished  altogether. 
Yusuf's  bright-coloured  blanket  followed  suit,  with 
Hassanein's  sleeping-helmet.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at,  therefore,  that  our  farewells  were  somewhat  chilly. 
Amar  was  venomous  because  some  thrifty  housewife  had 
appropriated  the  grid  on  which  he  made  his  almost 
uneatable  bread.  We  shuddered  to  think  what  it  would 
be  like  without  it ! 

By  8  A.M.  we  had  received  the  last  mixed  blessings 
and  warnings,  the  chorus  of  "Marhabas"  and  "Ma 
Salamas!"  had  died  among  the  palms  and  an  amazing 

251 


252   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

sense  of  peace  had  descended  on  us.  For  the  first  time 
in  three  months  we  were  a  completely  friendly  party, 
united  to  achieve  a  common  object  by  dint  of  hard  work 
and  endurance.  It  was  a  wonderful  feeling!  Everybody 
was  happy  and  nobody  shirked.  Even  the  plump  Yusuf 
forgot  his  plaintive  whine,  and  with  a  fat  smile  gathered 
hattab  and  urged  on  the  camels.  Unfortunately,  our 
great  grey  Tebu  beast  was  suffering  badly  from  his 
first  heavy  date  meal,  just  as  the  rest  of  the  caravan 
had  done  at  Buttafal  a  month  previously.  At  the  last 
moment,  however,  Sidi  Mohammed  el-Jeddawi,  seeing 
that  the  necessary  dates  for  fodder  took  up  three 
complete  loads,  lent  us  one  of  Sayed  Rida's  foaling 
nagas.  We  had  no  baggage  saddle  ("hawia")  for  her, 
so  we  doubled  across  her  back  our  thin,  single  fly-tent 
which  we  had  meant  to  leave  behind.  At  the  last 
moment  Yusuf,  ever  economical,  stuck  the  three  light 
poles  in  somewhere. 

We  therefore  started  with  a  caravan  of  nine,  but 
they  were  distinctly  overloaded,  for  we  had  to  carry 
water  for  six  or  seven  days,  since  Suleiman,  the  guide, 
was  uncertain  as  to  how  long  it  would  take  to  dig  out 
the  Zakar  well.  That  day  we  marched  ten  hours,  with 
a  hot  sun  and  a  cold  north-north-west  wind.  We  left 
the  Hawari  Gara  a  dark  block  to  the  west,  with  the 
great  indigo  cliffs  of  the  Gebel  Neri  far  beyond  it. 
Gradually  we  drew  away  from  the  hot,  red  sands  of 
Kufara  with  their  patches  of  strange  black  stones.  In 
the  afternoon  we  emerged  on  to  the  pale,  flattish  country 
sweeping  up  to  the  foot  of  the  Hawaish  mountains. 
These,  however,  were  still  invisible  when  we  camped  at 
sunset,  because  the  two  smallest  camels  refused  to  go 
any  farther.  We  missed  the  blacks  while  struggling  to 
unload  our  unruly  beasts,  two  of  whom  were  three- 
year-olds  and  never  could  be  barraked  without  a 


253 

prolonged  fight.  We  built  our  zaribas  with  their  backs 
to  the  persistent  north  wind,  but  nature  played  us  a 
trick,  for  the  temperature  descended  unpleasantly.  We 
sat  comfortably  inside  our  flea-bags,  however,  cooking 
rice  and  coffee  and  watched  a  fading  moon  slowly  dim 
our  solitary  candle. 

Next  morning  Mohammed  roused  us  long  before  the 
dawn  and  we  were  away  by  7  A.M.,  but  we  were  very 
under-staffed,  for  Amar  and  old  Suleiman  were  both 
too  feeble  to  lift  the  immense  fodder  loads  and  Has- 
sanein  and  I  were  exceedingly  inefficient!  Neverthe- 
less, complete  cheerfulness  still  reigned.  The  Beduins 
invented  and  sang  lustily  doggerel  rhymes  of  personal 
tendencies,  such  as, 

"  If  Sidi  Yusuf  won't  walk  to-day, 
A  new  little  wife  won't  come  his  way." 

We  saw  the  Hawaish  mountains,  a  long  line  of  round 
peaks  on  the  horizon,  about  8  A.M.,  and  at  the  same 
moment  discovered  that  our  new  guide  had  deficient 
sight.  He  was  a  little,  old,  wizened  Beduin,  very  poor 
but  very  shrewd  for  all  his  apparent  simplicity.  He 
was  clad  only  in  worn  sandals,  an  ancient  leather  skull 
cap  and  a  pathetically  tattered  grey  jerd.  He  was  quite 
illiterate  and  his  rare  speech  was  in  a  dialect  which 
even  Mohammed  found  some  difficulty  in  following. 
He  shuffled  along  all  day,  bent  over  his  palm  stick, 
untiring  and  unresponsive,  though  occasionally  his 
cracked,  hoarse  voice  joined  in  the  lilting  refrains  of 
the  retinue.  Only  when  he  failed  to  pick  out  a  certain 
hill  with  a  cleft  top  did  he  tell  us  that  he  had  once 
rashly  interfered  in  a  private  battle  between  two  black 
soldiers  and  received  a  blow  on  the  head  which  had 
permanently  damaged  his  eyesight.  After  this  admis- 
sion I  think  we  all  expected  to  lose  the  way,  but  one 


254    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

becomes  terribly  fatalistic  in  the  desert.  "Allah  alone 
knows"  is  repeated  with  complete  simplicity  by  every 
traveller  in  the  great  wilderness. 

By  this  time  I  could  well  understand  the  carelessness 
of  the  Beduins,  their  lack  of  forethought  and  their 
childlike  trust  in  Providence.  After  all,  what  does  it 
really  matter  on  a  twelve  days'  waterless  route  whether 
one  overloads  one's  camel  with  a  couple  of  extra  girbas 
and  a  spare  jarfa  of  fodder  in  order  to  ensure  a  day 
or  two  more  of  life?  A  few  strong  giblis  may  dry  up 
all  the  water.  It  may  go  bad,  or  the  skins  may  leak, 
or  a  load  may  be  thrown  on  to  sharp  stones  so  that  the 
girbas  burst.  On  the  other  hand,  the  guide  may  lose  his 
memory  or  his  "instinct."  Day  after  day  without  a 
landmark,  with  the  ever-present  knowledge  that  one 
slight  mistake  means  destruction,  is  surely  enough  to 
trouble  the  most  experienced.  One  day's  bad  march, 
owing  to  a  mere  trifle  such  as  irregularly  balanced  loads, 
sore  backs  or  unaccustomed  date  feeding,  will  endanger 
the  whole  issue,  for  the  Zakar — Jaghabub  or  the  Zakar— - 
Siwa  routes  are  the  longest  known  stretches  without 
water.  The  Boema-Farafra  route  is  twelve  days  with- 
out water.  The  camels  arrive  completely  exhausted 
and  if  an  extra  day  be  added  to  the  march  they  prob- 
ably do  not  arrive  at  all.  The  men  may  get  sore  feet 
or  fever,  but  they  cannot  ride  the  heavily  burdened 
beasts.  The  terrible  north  wind  may  blow  day  and 
night,  making  every  step  laborious,  yet  the  daily  average 
has  got  to  be  kept  up.  Therefore,  the  Beduins  smile 
when  one  makes  pitiful  little  attempts  to  arm  oneself 
against  nature,  to  forestall  or  prevent  her  rigours.  "If 
Allah  wills,  we  shall  arrive,"  they  say  gravely  and  turn 
the  conversation  to  lighter  matter. 

Fired  by  the  example  of  Mohammed  and  Mora j  a, 
Yusuf  began  to  wonder  whether  a  wife  or  two  would 


THROUGH  THE  MOUNTAINS  255 

not  satisfy  his  affectionate  heart  more  than  a  camel. 
"A  woman  is  so  much  cheaper,"  he  sighed,  and  told 
us  that  among  the  ekhwan  no  dowry  is  paid  to  the 
bride's  father.  A  small  gift  of  silk  or  gold  is  given  to 
the  mother  and  sisters,  perhaps  a  necklace  or  bracelet 
to  the  girl  herself  and  there  the  expense  ends.  "Twenty- 
five  mejidies  are  enough,"  said  Yusuf;  "but  if  one 
wants  to  take  the  daughter  of  a  Beduin  sheikh  one 
must  pay  many  camels."  "How  many?"  I  asked.  "Oh, 
ten,  twenty,  fifty  and  one  must  give  the  girl  silk  and 
cloth  for  her  clothes  besides!"  He  dropped  into  medi- 
tative silence. 

One  by  one  we  saw  the  landmarks  of  the  Zieghen 
track  to  the  west  and  learned  that  the  north-westerly 
course  we  were  following  had  been  the  original  Zieghen 
route  till  one  Mohammed  Sherif  established  the  present 
more  direct  way.  First  we  saw  the  Gardia,  a  square 
block  of  dark  cliff,  then  the  Garet  es  Sherif,  called  after 
a  traveller  who  shortened  by  a  day  the  Kufara-Jalo 
journey,  and  late  in  the  afternoon  a  conical  hill  called 
The  Kheima  (tent)  by  Mojabras  and  The  Mohgen 
(funnel)  by  Zouias.  One  great  advantage  we  had  over 
our  previous  journey.  This  time  the  sun  was  behind 
us  all  the  time.  The  difference  was  enormous.  Riding 
or  walking  for  twelve  hours  day  after  day  straight  into 
a  blazing  sun,  without  hat  brim  or  umbrella,  had  been 
very  trying  to  one's  eyes  and  head.  Altogether  the 
absence  of  glare,  the  feeling  that  the  larger  part  of  our 
work  was  done,  with  no  necessity  to  placate  a  constantly 
irritated  retinue  or  to  weld  together  the  most  in- 
harmonious human  elements,  caused  us  to  regard  the 
dreary  kilometres  that  lay  before  us  as  the  most  peaceful 
part  of  our  journey. 

"I  want  to  see  the  white  sands  again,"  I  said  and 
urged  my  little  expedition  on  into  the  rose-purple  hills. 


256   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

The  Hawaish  are  not  really  mountains.  They  are  an 
irregular  mass  of  round,  rocky  hills,  cliffs  and  cones 
and  their  direction  would  baffle  even  an  experienced 
geographer.  We  spent  any  spare  moments  at  dawn  and 
at  sunset  sitting  on  the  top  of  some  abrupt  hillock 
with  binoculars,  compass  and  a  note-book,  studying  the 
complicated  positions  of  the  local  mountains,  but  hair 
grew  grey  and  tempers  short  in  the  task.  Always  there 
was  a  new  wall  of  hills  in  the  distance  generally  running 
at  an  unexpected  angle  and  when  we  asked  the  retinue 
for  explanations,  all  they  could  say  was,  "Allah  alone 
knows !" 

I  wanted  to  camp  within  the  first  line  of  the 
Hawaish,  for  by  now  I  was  just  as  anxious  to  leave  the 
mysterious,  enchanted  land  as  I  had  been  to  enter  it. 
The  circling  horizon  of  strange  hills  seemed  to  shut  us 
in  with  the  hot  coloured  sands,  but  the  cool  white  dunes 
beyond  called  us  back  to  the  open  deserts  of  the  north. 

Just  as  Suleiman  wavered  as  to  whether  we  should 
turn  right  or  left  of  a  large  cliff,  sudden  news  brought 
by  Yusuf  and  Amar,  who  had  climbed  a  gherd  we  had 
just  left,  abruptly  shattered  our  peace.  Our  fat  retainer 
was  actually  running,  a  swift  uneven  little  trot,  which 
made  him  pant  as  he  shouted,  "There  is  a  caravan 
behind  us!"  The  idea  was  startling  to  say  the  least, 
for  no  one  had  travelled  by  this  route  for  nearly  four 
years  and  we  knew  that  nobody  was  prepared  to  start 
when  we  left  Kufara.  At  first  we  told  Yusuf  that  he 
had  dreamed  his  caravan.  We  were  two  days'  march 
from  Hawari,  from  where  all  travellers  start,  and  when 
we  left  the  oasis  there  had  been  no  question  of  any- 
body else  going  north  by  any  route.  Ajnar,  however, 
was  equally  positive.  "We  looked  through  the  glasses," 
he  said.  "There  are  four  or  six  camels  and  nearly  a 
dozen  men  with  them.  They  are  travelling  fast,  about 


,x^*'-'V  -"--;-• 

, 


j«u 


-   -m: 


OUR    HOST    AT   JAGHABUB 


8IDI    IimiS  S    HOUSE    AT    JAGHABUB 


MOSUl  i:    AX!)   QflHIA    OF    SID1    HKX    AL1    AT   JAGHABUB 


THROUGH  THE  MOUNTAINS  257 

three  hours  behind  us!"  This  was  so  definite  that  we 
had  to  believe  it  and  Mohammed  dotted  the  i's.  "We 
shall  be  attacked  to-night.  It  is  a  habit  of  the  Zouias. 
They  wait  till  a  caravan  is  outside  their  country  so  that 
they  cannot  be  blamed  and  then  they  eat  it  up!" 
"It  is  not  the  Zouias!"  indignantly  refuted  the  guide. 
"They  have  great  respect  for  the  Sayeds.  It  is  the 
Tebus.  They  have  swift  camels.  They  attack  in  the 
mountains,  where  no  travellers  ever  go  and  then  they 
fly  south  to  the  French  country  before  anything  is 
discovered." 

Intense  gloom  descended  on  the  little  party.  Sunset 
light  was  fading  and  the  one  break  in  the  purple  stones 
ahead  was  a  patch  of  vivid  sand  dotted  with  five  camel 
skeletons.  We  had  only  three  rifles  and  our  revolvers! 

Discretion  in  this  case  was  certainly  the  better  part 
of  valour,  so  we  decided  on  ignominious  flight.  We 
left  the  neighbourhood  of  the  wide  pass  leading  to  Zakar 
and,  in  darkness,  felt  our  way  west,  through  curling 
defiles  and  over  steep  ridges,  always  driving  the  camels 
across  the  stony  patches  to  avoid  leaving  footprints  in 
the  sand.  When  Suleiman  thought  we  had  gone  far 
enough  from  our  course  to  baffle  any  pursuers,  we 
barraked  in  a  convenient  hollow  out  of  sight  of  anyone 
who  was  not  standing  on  the  hills  immediately  surround- 
ing us.  "No  fires,"  said  Mohammed  sternly.  "No 
light  at  all!  And  we  will  put  the  camels  a  little  way 
in  front  of  us.  They  will  move  if  anyone  comes." 
"What  shall  we  eat?"  moaned  Yusuf  plaintively. 
"We  must  have  a  fire  to  cook,"  I  agreed,  thinking  I 
should  be  much  braver  after  some  hot  coffee,  for  it 
was  very  cold  that  night,  but  Mohammed  was 
adamantine.  He  hung  his  revolver  round  Suleiman's 
neck,  with  strict  injunctions  to  the  guide  to  "Shoot 
straight  and  may  Allah  direct  the  bullet!"  He  then 


258   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

suggested  making  a  fortified  zariba  on  the  hill-side. 
Yusuf  and  I,  after  furtive  glances  at  the  enormous 
loads,  with  the  very  long  march  fresh  in  our  minds, 
thought  it  would  be  much  better  to  perish  comfortably 
in  the  hollow.  "It  will  only  prolong  the  fight  if  we 
defend  the  hill,"  said  I  plaintively.  "I  want  to  go  to 
sleep  on  that  nice  soft  patch  of  sand."  But,  unfor- 
tunately, Hassanein  and  Amar  were  also  against  me. 
Therefore,  we  were  forced  to  drag  the  large  fodder 
sacks  laboriously  up  the  first  ridge  of  the  hill  and  push 
them  into  a  serried  wall  on  a  ledge.  I  have  never  been 
crosser  in  my  whole  life,  but  it  was  a  beautiful  little 
fort  when  it  was  finished.  I  felt  that  only  a  very 
energetic  bullet  would  get  through  those  immense  date 
sacks  and  the  position  would  certainly  be  impregnable 
so  long  as  any  of  the  defenders  were  alive.  The  girbas 
were  arranged  in  front  of  us  protected  by  stones,  so, 
sure  of  food  and  water,  we  could  even  stand  a  siege. 
The  camels  were  below  us  in  the  hollow.  Yusuf  and  I 
again  suggested  a  very  tiny  fire,  but  Mohammed  refused 
and  we  contented  ourselves  with  four-day-old  bread  and 
tinned  corned  beef.  After  that  I  silently  unrolled  my 
flea-bag  preparatory  to  placing  my  revolvers,  the  aneroid 
and  the  thermometer  beside  my  pillow.  "I  shall  not  go 
to  bed,"  said  Hassanein  sternly.  "We  must  take  turns 
to  watch."  "The  right  is  with  you,"  replied  Moham- 
med with  alacrity.  "Is  your  rifle  loaded,  Amar,  my 
son?  We  will  all  watch."  This,  however,  was  too 
much.  Yusuf  and  I  merely  ignored  the  remark,  but,  as 
I  gave  a  last  comforting  wriggle  to  feel  the  thick, 
woolly  end  of  my  flea-bag  with  my  toes,  I  heard 
Hassanein's  voice  somewhere  above  me,  alert  and 
strained,  "If  anyone  comes  into  sight  shall  I  speak  to 
them  first  or  fire  at  once?  What  is  your  custom 
here?"  Two  simultaneous  answers  blended  with  my 


THROUGH  THE  MOUNTAINS  259 

sleep.  "Speak  first!"  came  drowsily  from  Yusuf. 
"Shoot  quickly  and  shoot  straight!"  from  Mohammed, 
"or  you  will  never  speak  again!" 

The  only  thing  that  disturbed  my  slumbers  that  night 
was  a  little  yellow  sand  mouse.  I  woke  up  feeling  some- 
thing fluffy  on  my  cheek  and  the  absurd  little  beast  was 
sitting  on  my  nose.  He  scuttled  to  the  other  side  of 
the  zariba  when  I  moved  and  Amar,  bloodthirsty  after 
a  long,  useless  vigil,  promptly  killed  and  ate  him!  No 
Tebu  warriors  broke  our  peace,  but  unfortunately  the 
fear  of  them  made  Mohammed  wake  me  while  the  golden 
moon  was  still  high  and  brilliant.  I  would  not  move 
without  breakfast,  so  we  hurriedly  cooked  rice  and 
sweet  tea  in  the  unreal  light  almost  as  clear  as  noon  and 
laboriously  pulled  to  pieces  our  beautiful  zariba  of  the 
night  before.  We  rolled  the  heavy  date  sacks  down  the. 
hill  because  the  men  were  too  tired  after  their  hard 
twenty-four  hours  to  carry  them.  One  burst  and  scat- 
tered dates  right  and  left.  Thrift  and  fear  mingled  in 
the  minds  of  the  retinue,  but  caution  for  the  long  road 
before  us  was  uppermost  in  my  mind!  We  picked  them 
up  in  silence  and  dumped  the  load  on  to  the  protesting 
camels  with  almost  personal  dislike.  Then  we  took  to 
the  trail  again  and,  still  in  moonlight,  began  picking 
our  devious  way  round  the  irregular  hills.  When  Sulei- 
man finally  led  us  back  to  the  main  pass  we  thought 
any  pursuing  caravan  must  be  far  ahead,  for  it  was  two 
hours  after  sunrise. 

By  this  time  we  were  all  inclined  to  think  that  the 
four  or  six  camels  and  the  dozen  men  existed  only  in 
the  imagination  of  Yusuf  and  Amar,  but  we  had  hardly 
turned  into  the  wide  sweep  of  sand  that  led  north  to 
the  open  spaces  beyond  the  first  range  of  Hawaish  when 
we  came  upon  fresh  camels'  tracks  ahead  of  us.  The 
plump  one  was  delighted.  "T  was  right!  I  was  right!" 


260    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

he  exclaimed,  "and  now  we  are  safe,  for,  when  they  do 
not  catch  us,  they  will  think  we  have  been  warned  and 
gone  to  Zieghen  to  avoid  them."  Perhaps  his  surmise 
was  correct.  We  never  knew.  We  found  no  more 
traces  of  the  mysterious  caravan.  Its  origin  and  destina- 
tion remained  a  secret.  It  had  travelled  two  days  and 
a  half  on  the  route  to  Zakar  far  beyond  the  point  where, 
long  ago,  travellers  turned  west  to  Zieghen.  Then  it 
vanished  as  completely  as  a  mirage,  but  mirage  does  not 
leave  footprints  and  camel  dung! 

In  spite  of  the  sleepless  night  the  Beduins  marched 
well  that  day.  "If  we  reach  those  mountains  to-night," 
had  said  Suleiman  at  11  A.M.,  when  we  saw  the  second 
range  of  Hawaish,  blue  and  mauve,  beyond  a  wide 
expanse  of  pale  sand  waves  and  low  dunes,  "we  shall 
say  our  Asr  prayers  to-morrow  at  Zakar."  So  we 
plodded  on  cheerfully.  It  was  cool  and  cloudy,  with 
the  usual  north  wind  and  an  incessant  mirage  that  made 
pools  and  lakes  in  every  hollow.  The  old  camel  I  had 
ridden  when  we  left  Jedabia  seemed  to  know  the  way. 
He  made  a  bee-line  for  a  certain  cleft  in  the  hills.  Yusuf 
noticed  this  also  and  asked  if  I  knew  the  story  of  the 
sand  grouse  and  the  camel.  "They  were  arguing  one 
day  as  to  which  was  the  cleverer,"  said  the  plump  one, 
smiling.  "I  lay  my  eggs  at  random  in  the  trackless 
desert,"  urged  the  sand  grouse,  "and  then  I  fly  far  and 
wide  in  search  of  food,  but  I  can  always  come  straight 
back  to  hatch  them."  The  camel  sniffed  scornfully. 
"If  I  drink  at  a  well  as  a  tiny  foal  trotting  beside  my 
mother,  though  I  never  see  it  again,  I  can  find  my  way 
back  to  it  even  when  I  am  very  old  and  blind!"  "No, 
no,  he  is  cleverer  than  that!"  interrupted  Mohammed. 
"If  a  naga  has  tasted  the  water  of  a  well  when  she  is 
in  foal,  the  camel  she  gives  birth  to  can  return  to  it 
surely."  "Let  us  hope  this  particular  camel  has  drunk 


THROUGH  THE  MOUNTAINS  261 

of  the  well  at  Jaghabub,"  I  suggested.  "Insha-allah!" 
replied  Yusuf  devoutly. 

We  found  a  delightfully  sheltered  spot  between  two 
hills  that  night,  so  did  not  trouble  to  build  a  zariba. 
The  thermometer  registered  a  frost,  but  I  think  it  had 
been  affected  by  the  mental  atmosphere  of  the  previous 
night  because  we  did  not  feel  very  cold.  I  remember  I 
drank  so  much  coffee  that  I  could  not  sleep,  so  I  did  not 
mind  when  the  Beduins  insisted  on  making  a  fire  three 
hours  before  dawn  and  cooking  their  "asida,"  a  sticky 
mass  of  damp  flour  flavoured  with  onions  and  zeit  (oil). 
We  must  have  been  particularly  inexpert  with  the  loading 
for,  in  spite  of  this  early  breakfast,  we  started  only  just 
before  sunrise.  The  new  grey  camel  lay  down  almost  at 
once,  for  he  had  not  recovered  from  his  greed.  We  had  to 
divide  his  girbas  among  the  others,  for  water  is  needed 
to  harden  the  sand  when  digging  the  Zakar  well.  We 
watched  the  caravan  anxiously  as,  leaving  the  second 
mass  of  the  Hawaish  hills,  it  crossed  a  rolling  expanse  of 
great  flat  slabs  of  stone,  broken  and  slippery.  How- 
ever, it  toiled  slowly  but  safely  across  them  and  about 
10  A.M.  we  were  moving  in  sparkling  white  sand,  blind- 
ing, dazzlingly  clean  in  the  hot  sun.  There  was  prac- 
tically no  wind  for  once,  and  Yusuf  actually  discarded 
his  overcoat  after  he  had  climbed  a  mound  to  point  out 
a  square,  solid,  black  gara  among  surrounding  stony 
gherds.  "Near  that  is  the  well,"  he  announced.  "We 
shall  be  there  in  one  hour  or  perhaps  four."  As  a 
matter  of  fact  we  saw  the  two  tufts  of  palm  scrub  that 
mark  the  Zakar  well  at  noon  and  they  looked  scarcely 
a  stone's  throw  away  among  sands  white  as  snow,  but 
we  only  reached  them  two  hours  later. 

The  last  caravan  that  passed  must  have  suffered 
severely  en  route,  for  there  were  bits  of  broken  baggage 
among  scattered  camel  skeletons.  Yusuf  wished  to 


262   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

ignore  several  legs  complete  with  pads  in  building  a 
zariba,  but  I  hankered  after  ground  less  gruesomely 
reminiscent,  so  we  compromised  by  turning  our  backs 
on  the  well  and  its  immediate  surroundings.  "The 
animals  always  die  at  the  end  of  this  journey,"  said 
Suleiman  calmly,  "unless  they  are  very  strong.  Then 
they  drink  so  much  water  that  one  must  travel  very 
slowly,  taking  five  days  or  even  more  to  go  from  here 
to  Hawari."  The  well,  when  we  arrived,  was  a  big 
mound  of  sand,  but  the  guide  told  us  it  was  properly 
made  with  stone  walls,  so  it  was  only  a  case  of  digging. 
It  is  necessary  to  arrive  at  this  well  with  a  reserve  of 
water  as,  before  beginning  to  dig,  one  must  carefully 
soak  the  surrounding  sand  to  make  it  hold  the  stones 
like  mortar.  Otherwise  they  all  fall  in  on  top  of  anyone 
digging  and  it  is  most  dangerous  work. 

Apparently  the  Zakar  well  was  used  in  ancient  days 
by  Tebus,  long  before  the  Jaghabub-Kufara  route  was 
opened  by  the  Mahdi.  The  latter  never  travelled  over 
it  himself,  but  he  sent  an  exploring  party  to  discover  its 
possibilities  and,  later,  his  brother,  Sayed  Ahmed  es 
Sherif,  took  a  caravan  across  it.  Since  then  it  has  been 
practically  reserved  for  the  use  of  the  Senussi  family,  who 
make  the  journey  with  immense  caravans  with  anything 
over  fifty  camels.  They  carry  very  large  stores  of  fodder, 
casting  several  loads  on  the  way  if  necessary.  Sidi  Idris 
and  Sayed  Rida  have  so  far  avoided  the  route,  but  Sayed 
Ahmed  es  Sherif  used  it  several  times.  On  one  occasion 
some  of  his  water  went  bad  going  south  and  his  horse 
died  of  thirst  four  days  out.  He  had  to  leave  most  of 
his  stores  and  luggage  behind  and  return  hastily  to 
Jaghabub  with  as  many  camels  as  possible.  Three  years 
later  his  luggage  was  recovered  just  as  he  had  left  it, 
which  shows  how  little  frequented  is  the  route. 

All  afternoon  the  Beduins  laboured  at  the  well.     It 


THROUGH  THE  MOUNTAINS          263 

was  very  narrow,  about  two  and  a  half  feet  across,  so 
only  old  Suleiman,  thin  and  wizened,  could  get  down 
to  dig.  It  must  have  been  a  most  uncomfortable  task, 
for  the  water  lay  at  a  depth  of  15  feet,  but  before  he 
slept  that  night  he  had  felt  damp  sand  beneath  his 
fingers.  Next  morning,  January  29,  the  work  was  com- 
pleted and  our  14  girbas  filled  and  ranged  in  two  nice, 
fat  rows  ready  for  loading,  but  we  could  not  start  that 
day  for  a  very  bad  sandstorm  raged  till  4  P.M.  We  could 
not  light  a  fire  or  even  go  out  to  collect  hattab  for  our 
journey.  The  camels  moaned  as  they  huddled  in  a 
miserable  circle  and  we  crouched  under  blankets  and 
ate  sand  mixed  with  dates  and  stale  bread.  Hassanein 
devoted  much  labour  to  mending  his  primrose  and  scarlet 
boots  with  brass  wire  and  was  bitterly  disappointed  be- 
cause he  could  not  cut  the  latter  with  his  saw! 

In  the  evening  the  wind  abated  a  little,  but  it  was 
a  gloomy  sunset.  The  sun  was  a  livid  disk  in  a  pale 
green  sky  seen  through  a  drab  blur  of  sand  above  grey 
desert.  We  sealed  up  our  three  precious  fanatis  with 
seccotine  round  the  stoppers  so  that  no  one  should  be 
tempted  to  use  them  till  the  last  possible  moment.  Then 
we  re-covered  the  well  with  the  old  matting  and  skins  we 
had  found  under  the  miniature  dome  which  covered  it. 
In  four  years  the  sand  had  filtered  through  them  as  if 
they  were  not  there,  but  should  any  traveller  be  rash 
enough  to  follow  shortly  in  our  footsteps,  our  precaution 
might  save  him  a  repetition  of  old  Suleiman's  task. 

On  January  30  we  began  the  long  trek,  leaving  the 
well  at  7  A.M.  after  a  most  careful  adjustment  of  the 
loads.  It  was  cold  with  a  faint  north  wind  which 
strengthened  as  we  mounted  the  stony  gherd  north-east 
of  the  well.  As  we  turned  for  a  last  look  at  the  lonely 
clump  of  palms,  a  minute  spot  of  green  in  a  boundless 
stretch  of  undulating  sand,  a  muffled  voice  came  viciously 


264   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

from  the  many-coloured  kufiya  which  Hassanein  had 
wound  over  his  nose  and  mouth.  "The  one  comfort  is 
that  we  shall  either  be  in  Jaghabub  in  twelve  days  or 
we  shall  be  dead!"  it  said.  "Are  your  boots  very 
painful  with  all  that  brass  stuck  in  them?"  I  asked 
sweetly! 

For  an  hour  we  drove  the  camels  slowly  over  rough, 
stony  ground  with  large  loose  slabs  lying  about.  Then 
the  hills  gave  place  to  the  white  sands  and  we  looked 
down  on  to  dunes  like  the  turbulent  breakers  of  a  stormy 
sea.  Yusuf  glanced  solemnly  at  the  last  dark  stones 
behind  us.  "We  are  lucky  to  leave  the  red  country 
without  exchanging  gunpowder,"  he  announced,  "but 
the  friends  of  the  Sayeds  are  always  blessed.  You  have 
been  especially  protected  by  Allah,  for  the  Zouias  are 
a  bad  people."  It  was  rare  that  the  plump  one  was 
really  serious  except  when  his  food  or  sleep  were 
threatened,  so  we  guessed  that  he  knew  more  than  he 
would  even  tell  us.  The  rising  north  wind,  however, 
prevented  much  conversation  and  before  we  had  reached 
the  first  line  of  dunes  it  had  developed  into  something 
resembling  the  sandstorm  of  the  previous  day.  It  was 
bitterly  cold.  If  one  rode,  the  wind  pierced  through 
every  blanket  that  could  be  wound  round  one  and  one  was 
nearly  blown  off  the  camel.  If  we  walked  with  a  jerd 
muffled  over  our  heads,  the  sand  poured  through  the 
woollen  stuff  into  eyes,  mouth  and  nose  and  we  literally 
staggered  as  we  mounted  each  succeeding  ridge  and  met 
the  full  force  of  the  gale  at  the  top.  I  used  to  struggle 
on  for  a  mile  or  two  and  then  half  bury  myself  under 
the  lee  of  a  gherd  till  the  stumbling,  half -blinded  caravan 
caught  up. 

A  weary  day  was  passed  in  repeating  this  process, 
until  everyone  looked  upon  the  unfaltering  guide  as  his 
personal  enemy  who  would  never  stop  his  slow,  inter- 


THROUGH  THE  MOUNTAINS          265 

minable  crawl  over  dune  and  hollow,  which  always  kept 
him  just  out  of  reach  of  our  protests.  Every  time  he 
paused  to  look  for  the  best  place  to  cross  a  ridge  we  hoped 
to  hear  the  barraking  cry,  but  always  he  shuffled  on  in 
broken  sandals,  monotonously,  untiringly.  The  wind 
dropped  at  sunset,  but  we  marched  through  the  sickly, 
grey  light,  with  a  faint  lemon  glow  in  the  west  and  only 
when  the  full  twelve  hours  were  completed  did  Suleiman 
allow  us  to  crawl  into  our  flea-bags,  half -frozen,  half- 
starved;  for  everyone  was  too  tired  to  cook. 

I  believe  I  took  off  my  boots,  but  certainly  nothing 
else,  for  I  remember  how  bulky  my  red  hezaam  felt  in 
the  narrow  space;  but  I  slept  for  nine  blissful  hours  and 
ate  far  more  than  my  share  of  sardines  and  dates  in  the 
morning.  The  rice  was  a  strange,  blackish  grey  colour,, 
due  to  the  girba  water.  The  colour  and  smell  of  this 
water  after  a  few  days  are  a  great  preventive  of  thirst. 
We  had  gone  back  to  the  old  ration  of  three  cups  of 
water  per  day,  with  a.  fourth  for  cooking.  We  soon 
found  that  hot  coffee  made  us  too  thirsty,  but  that  cold, 
strong,  sugarless  tea  produced  rather  the  opposite  effect. 
A  much  worse  discovery  greeted  us  that  exceedingly  cold 
morning  of  January  31.  Three  of  the  girbas  had  either 
dried  in  the  sand-filled  wind  or  leaked  away.  There  was 
scarcely  the  morning  ration  left  in  them.  We  spoke  to 
the  retinue  seriously  when  we  found  them  drinking 
copiously,  but  were  baffled  by  their  fatalism.  We  still 
had  a  girba  a  day  and  two  fanatis  to  spare,  so  they  refused 
to  consider  the  infinite  possibilities  of  delay,  illness,  loss, 
leakage,  or  a  camel  needing  water  by  the  way.  "What 
is  written  is  written,"  said  Yusuf.  "You  cannot  run 
away  from  fate.  That  is  what  the  eagle  said  to  Sulei- 
man." "What  eagle?"  I  demanded  suspiciously. 

"The  prophet  Suleiman  was  sitting  on  a  hill,  from 
which  he  could  see  many  cities,  when  an  eagle  came  to 


266   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 

him  and  said,  'You  think  you  are  wise  because  you  know 
the  wisdom  of  all  these  people,  but  I  will  take  you  all 
over  the  world  and  show  you  the  wisdom  of  countries 
you  have  never  heard  of.'  With  that  he  took  the 
prophet's  girdle  in  his  beak  and  flew  north,  south,  east 
and  west  with  him,  showing  him  many  marvels.  When 
they  had  travelled  far  and  wide  the  bird  flew  back  to  the 
prophet's  own  country  and  dropped  his  pupil  in  a  field 
where  a  ploughman  was  setting  snares.  Before  Suleiman 
could  express  his  thanks  he  saw  that  the  great  bird  was 
caught  in  one  of  the  traps  and  was  battering  helplessly 
against  the  bars.  'Oh,  thou  who  would'st  teach  me 
wisdom,  where  is  thine  own  that  thou  who  knowest  all 
the  world  could  not  avoid  one  small  trap?'  'What  is 
written  is  written/  said  the  eagle  resignedly.  'One 
cannot  run  away  from  one's  fate.' '  Yusuf  looked  at 
me  expectantly.  "The  eagle  might  have  looked  where 
he  was  going,"  I  said  firmly,  "and  you  will  most  cer- 
tainly look  at  what  you  are  drinking,  my  son." 

Our  start  that  morning  was  delayed  because  Sulei- 
man's ear  had  to  be  doctored.  A  half -deaf,  as  well  as 
a  half -blind,  guide  was  certainly  a  thing  to  be  avoided, 
so  we  gave  him  all  our  spare  under-garments,  his  ailment 
being  entirely  due  to  the  fact  that,  with  a  temperature 
of  zero,  he  slept  on  the  cold  sand  in  a  ragged  cotton  shirt 
and  a  jerd  transparently  thin  and  tattered.  He  had 
started  to  walk  more  than  a  thousand  miles  (including  his 
return  journey  after  he  had  taken  the  camels  back  to 
Jedabia)  with  no  other  possessions  than  these  and  not  one 
nickel  of  money!  "Allah  is  great.  He  will  provide," 
he  said  simply  as  he  wound  my  knitted  spencer  on  his 
head  and  tied  a  pair  of  Hassanein's  breeches  round  his 
chest  under  his  grimy  shirt.  The  Arabs'  one  desire  is 
to  muffle  every  possible  garment — no  matter  for  what 
portion  of  the  anatomy  it  is  designed — round  their  heads 


THROUGH  THE  MOUNTAINS          267 

and  shoulders — the  rest  they  leave  to  chance  and  the 
winds  of  heaven! 

Nature  was  evidently  determined  to  show  us  every- 
thing she  was  capable  of  in  the  way  of  climate,  for  that 
day  not  a  breath  of  wind  stirred  and  a  torrid,  aching 
sun  beat  down  on  us  till  our  necks  felt  bruised  and  our 
heads  heavy  and  unwieldy.  We  prayed  for  the  night, 
almost  as  fervently  as  the  day  before,  especially  as  a  com- 
pletely new  range  of  the  exasperating  Hawaish  moun- 
tains appeared  to  the  east.  "After  a  day  you  will  see 
them  no  more,"  said  Mohammed  consolingly.  "But  they 
say  the  dunes  go  west  all  the  way  to  Misurata — Allah 
alone  knows!"  After  a  three  hours'  march,  about  60  kilo- 
metres from  Zakar,  the  dunes  stopped  altogether  and  we 
crossed  uneven,  stony  ground  till,  an  hour  before  sunset, 
we  came  to  a  single  long  line  of  huge,  heavy  dunes  run- 
ning west  to  east.  They  rose  suddenly,  like  clear  golden 
flour,  out  of  the  dark  stones  which  went  right  up  to  their 
base  and  though  we  followed  them  east  for  14  kilometres 
that  night  and  24  the  next  morning,  we  never  saw  them 
merge  into  the  rocky  waste.  Always  they  stood  apart, 
immense,  curly,  ridged,  like  waves  of  a  sunlit  sea,  a 
beautiful  landmark  which  can  be  seen  half  a  day's  journey 
ahead. 

It  was  warmer  that  night  and  we  "fadhled"  round 
a  fire  and  ate  Yusuf's  "asida,"  the  only  thing  he  liked 
better  than  camels,  he  told  us,  and  listened  to  Suleiman's 
tales  of  past  journeys.  As  they  contained  every  form 
of  disaster  that  can  assail  humanity  in  the  clutches  of 
remorseless  nature,  we  turned  the  conversation  till  he 
spoke  of  people  living  on  this  desolate  stony  ground 
"long,  very  long,  ago!"  "There  used  to  be  wood 
here  and  forage  and  there  are  stones  stuck  together  with 
mortar  and  sometimes  one  picks  up  prepared  milling 
stones,  which  have  been  used  for  crushing  grain."  I 


268   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

doubted  his  facts  because  in  the  afternoon  he  had  pointed 
out  traces  of  what  he  thought  were  walls  constructed 
with  mortar,  but  I  thought  they  were  merely  a  natural 
formation  of  the  sandstone  which  takes  so  many  odd 
shapes.  I  think  his  milling  stones  were  due  to  the  hand 
of  nature  in  fantastic  mood,  for  there  could  never  have 
been  water  in  the  stony  ground. 

February  1  we  started  at  7.15  A.M.  and  barraked  at 
2.30  P.M.  at  the  Mehemsa,  a  feeding  ground,  where  it 
is  customary  to  allow  the  camels  a  few  hours'  rest  and 
a  good  meal  before  starting  to  cross  the  four  days'  waste 
in  front  without  blade  of  grass  or  twig  of  firewood.  A 
few  camel  skeletons  mark  the  way  below  the  tower- 
ing dunes  and,  here  and  there,  one  comes  across  large 
stones  set  on  end  by  preceding  travellers.  These 
impromptu  landmarks  are  of  great  value  and  we  re- 
ligiously made  them  ourselves  whenever  possible.  The 
Beduins  are  very  good  about  this  labour.  I  have  seen 
Mohammed  toil  to  the  top  of  some  hillock  with  a  heavy 
slab  of  rock,  after  a  long  day's  journey,  to  make  a  mark 
that  might  cheer  and  guide  a  chance  caravan  years  hence 
perhaps. 

We  crossed  the  dunes  where  a  wide  channel  of  stony 
ground  ran  into  a  low,  curly  ridge  and,  immediately  on 
the  other  side,  found  great  shrubs  and  masses  of  dry  grey 
brush,  excellent  fodder  and  firewood,  but  burning  hot 
at  midday.  The  dunes  circled  round  west  and  north  of 
an  open  space  of  some  4  kilometres.  Beyond  this  again 
there  was  another  track  of  hattab.  Among  this  we 
camped  and  turned  the  camels  loose  to  graze.  They 
were  disappointingly  different.  "Inshallah,  we  shall 
arrive  at  Jaghabub,  but  we  shall  leave  two  or  three 
camels  on  the  way,"  said  Yusuf.  We  were  very  anxious 
about  our  animals.  The  two  young  nagas  were  terribly 
thin,  the  big  blond  camel  was  obviously  ill  and  two  of 


269 

the  others  were  feeble  and  overworked.  They  should 
all  have  been  rested  and  fed  up  at  Kufara  for  at  least 
another  fortnight.  We  knew  this  at  Taj,  but  the  com- 
plicated politics  of  the  place  necessitated  our  precipitate 
departure.  Yusuf  told  us  that  generally  when  a  caravan 
travels  the  Kufara-Jaghabub  route  it  spends  a  month 
at  least  in  preparation.  Forty  or  fifty  camels  are  taken 
and  these  are  all  fed  up  for  weeks  beforehand,  till  they 
are  very  fat  and  strong.  During  that  time  they  do  no 
work,  but  are  gradually  trained  to  last  thirteen  days 
without  drinking  by  ever-increasing  waterless  periods. 
When  our  camels  arrived  at  Kufara  they  had  done  a 
hard  800  miles  of  journey,  including  one  stretch  of  ten 
days  without  water  and  twelve  without  sufficient  food, 
during  the  last  three  of  which  they  were  practically 
starving.  After  nine  days'  rest  they  had  to  start  to 
cross  one  of  the  hardest  routes  in  North  Africa,  over- 
loaded and  at  a  bad  period  of  the  year,  when  the  climate 
is  at  its  worst.  We  had,  therefore,  reason  for  our  fears, 
and  when  the  animals  turned  away  from  the  plentiful 
fodder  of  the  Mehemsa  our  little  party  lost  something 
o£  its  high  spirits. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  ELUSIVE  DUNES 

NEAR  the  feeding  ground  are  two  large  cisterns 
erected  by  order  of  Sayed  el  Mahdi.  When 
any  of  the  Senussi  family  wished  to  travel  by 
this  route,  water  was  sent  on  ahead  and  stored  in  the 
cisterns,  near  which  there  is  a  small  shanty  falling  into 
disrepair.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  should  undoubtedly 
be  water  at  the  Mehemsa.  It  is  the  same  sort  of  ground 
as  at  Buttafal  and  Zakar  and  green  bushes  are  plentiful 
and  healthy.  There  is  no  rainfall  and  no  dew  to  account 
for  their  existence  otherwise.  We  also  noticed  a  number 
of  birds,  conspicuous  among  them  a  grey  and  black 
variety  larger  than  the  "abu  fasada."  In  the  time  of 
Sidi  el  Mahdi  slaves  dug  for  water  to  a  depth  of  20  feet 
at  the  Mehemsa  without  coming  to  wet  sand,  but  since 
then  no  one  has  tried. 

On  February  2  we  started  north  at  6.30  A.M.  after 
a  violent  argument  as  to  the  best  way  of  saving  the 
camels.  I  wanted  to  follow  the  summer  plan,  start  an 
hour  before  sunset,  walk  all  night  and  camp  two  hours 
after  dawn.  One  can  do  much  longer  marches  this  way, 
but  the  Beduins  were  reluctant  to  face  the  cold  of  the 
night.  On  the  other  hand,  Mohammed  was  desperately 
afraid  of  another  sandstorm,  which  would  inevitably 
delay  us.  He  therefore  wanted  to  walk  at  least  15  hours 
a  day.  It  is  an  unfortunate  fact  that  a  camel  does 
13  hours,  at  a  pace  of  4  kilometres,  infinitely  easier  than 
10  hours  at  5.  He  is  capable  of  plodding  along  evenly 

270 


THE  ELUSIVE  DUNES  271 

without  halting  for  an  indefinite  time,  but  the  slower 
he  goes  the  longer  he  will  last.  Mohammed  was  a  bad 
camel-man.  Frightened  of  the  desperately  long  route 
in  front  of  him,  which  had  to  be  traversed  in  12  days, 
he  was  anxious  to  push  on  at  first  in  order  to  have  some- 
thing up  his  sleeve;  yet  the  loads,  chiefly  fodder  and 
water,  would  grow  lighter  every  day.  I  refused,  there- 
fore, to  do  more  than  12  or  13  hours  a  day,  especially 
as  our  camels  would  not  feed  properly  when  it  was  dark 
and  cold.  The  best  way  of  travelling  is  to  start  at 
5  A.M.,  barrak  for  a  few  hours  at  midday,  feed  the 
camels  as  the  afternoon  grows  cooler  and  walk  late  into 
the  night.  But  it  means  a  double  loading  and  we  had 
not  enough  men  or  energy  for  that,  so  our  beasts  had 
to  accustom  themselves  to  feeding  by  starlight  night  and 
morning. 

That  first  day  we  had  a  cool  wind,  so  we  all  walked 
cheerfully  across  the  unbroken  stretches  of  monotonous 
fawn  sand.  The  world  had  become  a  level  disk  again, 
infinitely  flat,  its  smoothness  polished  by  the  glaring 
sun  till  the  mirage  broke  the  edges,  which  seemed  but 
a  few  yards  away.  I  asked  old  Suleiman  how  he  knew 
the  way.  "You  put  Jedi  over  your  left  eye  and  walk 
a  long  way — thus.  Then  you  turn  a  little  toward  the 
kibla  1  and  walk  still  more  and  then,  if  Allah  wills,  you 
arrive."  It  was  not  exactly  a  reassuring  answer  after 
Abdullah's  vagaries,  so  I  asked  him  where  Jedi  was  at 
the  moment,  "I  don't  know,"  he  replied  with  engag- 
ing frankness.  "Where  is  she?"  I  showed  him  by 
the  compass  and  he  trudged  on  perfectly  placidly, 
nibbling  a  date  from  the  little  store  he  kept  tied  up  in 
a  corner  of  his  tattered  jerd. 

When  the  sunset  had  painted  our  narrow  world 
flame-red  and,  one  by  one,  the  stars  had  come  out  to 

1  The  kibla  is  turned  towards  the  ka-aba  at  Mecca. 


272   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

show  how  infinitely  remote  is  "that  inverted  bowl  we 
call  the  sky,"  Mohammed  pleaded  for  an  extra  spurt. 
"Let  us  just  put  that  star  out,"  he  urged,  pointing  to 
the  brightest  point  in  the  west.  Having  noticed,  how- 
ever, that  all  the  camels  were  stumbling  and  swinging 
out  of  the  line,  I  thought  a  race  with  the  evening  star 
would  be  a  mistake,  so  I  insisted  on  barraking.  We 
made  no  zariba,  leaving  the  loads  ready  coupled  for  the 
morning.  We  had  taken  very  little  hattab  from  the 
Mehemsa  because  of  the  weight,  so  our  fire  was  of  the 
smallest  description  and  we  should  have  been  asleep  in 
an  hour,  but  for  a  prolonged  dispute  between  Mohammed 
and  Suleiman  as  to  the  necessity  of  agaling  the  camels. 
"They  will  not  move,  my  son,"  said  Suleiman.  "They 
are  tired,  like  me,  and  I  am  an  old  man."  "Old,  too, 
in  experience,"  replied  our  polite  retainer,  "but  make 
my  heart  at  peace  by  agaling  them."  And  he  related 
a  lurid  story  of  how  70  camels  had  stampeded  midway  on 
the  Zieghen  route.  They  all  reached  Jalo  safely,  but 
some  of  the  men,  unexpectedly  left  to  carry  their  food 
and  water,  died  on  the  march.  Suleiman  was  already 
rolled  like  a  dormouse  between  two  hawias,  so  he 
appealed  to  me  for  support.  "Know  you  the  saying  of 
the  Prophet,  Uncle  Suleiman,"  I  asked,  "how  a  man 
came  to  him  and  asked  whether  he  should  agal  his  camel 
or  put  his  trust  in  Allah?  'First  place  the  agal  on  the 
camel  and  then  your  trust  in  Allah,'  was  the  reply." 

Various  grunts  and  roars,  mingled  with  my  sleep, 
told  me  that  the  guide  had  been  impressed  by  my 
theological  learning  and  it  seemed  only  a  few  minutes 
later  that  I  woke  to  the  sound  of  Yusuf's  voice,  "Allah 
make  you  strong!  Are  you  ready  for  rice?"  Protest- 
ing that  it  must  still  be  the  middle  of  the  night,  I  poked 
my  head  out  of  the  flea-bag,  dislodging  a  shower  of 
sand  from  its  folds,  and  a  few  yards  away  was  one  of 


•  ---  - 


MY    LONELY   PICNIC    IN    KfFAHA    WADI 


A   GLASS    OF    MINT  TEA   ON    THE    WAY  TO   SUVA 


DOCUMENT   OF   WELCOME    AT   HCSEIMA    (TAj) 


DOCUMENT    OF     WELCOME    GIVEX     AT     KUFARA    (TAJ) 


THE  ELUSIVE  DUNES  273 

the  odd,  vivid  little  pictures  that  flash  suddenly  into 
one's  life  and  that  one  never  forgets.  A  crackling, 
scented  fire,  criminally  large  in  the  circumstances,  threw 
a  wavering  golden  circle  in  the  midst  of  flat,  shadowed 
sand,  interminable,  bourneless.  Against  the  brilliant 
stars  a  tall,  white-robed  figure  was  silhouetted,  hands 
raised  to  heaven,  white  hood  framing  the  stern,  dark- 
featured  face,  intoning  the  dawn  prayers.  "Allahu 
Akhbar!"  rang  out  with  undaunted  faith,  with  un- 
dimmed  courage,  to  the  one  Guide  whom  the  Beduin 
trusts  to  lead  his  labouring  caravans  through  desert  and 
dune  to  the  desired  oasis.  Beside  the  glowing  brush- 
wood, Suleiman,  bent  double  over  a  huge  cauldron, 
monotonously  pounded  the  morning's  "asida,"  his  long 
pestle  moving  to  the  rhythm  of  his  quavering  chant, 
while  Amar,  huddled  under  his  coarse  jerd,  stirred  red 
sauce  flavoured  with  fil-fil.  Yusuf 's  plump  face  was  set 
in  immobile  discontent  against  the  flames,  as,  muffled 
in  every  conceivable  garment  and  wrap,  he  methodically 
fed  the  fire,  twig  by  snapping  twig.  White  robes,  a 
fire  and  the  paling  stars,  with  a  circle  of  camels  looming 
formless  and  dark  in  the  background.  That  was  my 
picture  and  then  Yusuf's  cross  voice  spoiled  it.  "The 
girba  water  is  very  bad,"  he  said.  "The  rice  will  be 
black!"  "Maleish!  I  shall  not  see  it!"  I  said, 
shivering;  but  a  few  minutes  later  we  tasted  it,  when 
the  plump  one,  sleepy-eyed,  shuffled  across  with  a  grimy 
frying-pan.  He  had  sand  on  his  nose  and  forehead  to 
show  that  he  had  said  his  morning  prayers,  but,  whereas 
the  rest  of  the  retinue  devoutly  bowed  their  heads  to 
the  earth  three  times  a  day  at  least,  I  always  suspected 
Yusuf  of  calmly  dabbing  a  little  shingle  on  his  face  as 
he  went  along. 

The  hard-boiled  eggs  gave  out  that  day,  so  we  had 
to  drown  the  taste  of  the  girba  rice  with  sardines.     Our 


274   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

midday  meal  now  consisted  of  dates  and  a  handful  of 
"bucksumat,"  for  we  had  been  given  a  couple  of  bags 
of  these  hard,  unleavened  biscuits,  slightly  sweetened 
and  flavoured  with  carraway  seeds,  by  the  kindly  ekhwan 
of  Taj.  In  the  evening  we  shared  a  tin  of  corned  beef, 
but,  alas!  our  great  support  of  the  Taiserbo  journey  had 
failed  us,  for  the  dates  we  had  brought  from  Hawari 
were  too  fresh  and  they  stung  our  mouths,  blistering 
our  gums  and  reducing  us  to  agonies  of  thirst.  The 
water  allowance  was  too  small  to  allow  of  our  drinking 
except  in  the  morning  and  the  evening,  so  we  had 
reluctantly  to  discard  our  dates.  Yusuf  insisted  on 
eating  one  only  each  day,  because  there  is  an  Arab 
proverb,  "A  date  by  the  way  or  a  young  girl  smiling 
makes  a  fortunate  journey." 

We  started  at  6.30  A.M.  on  February  3  and  walked 
till  7  P.M.,  when  the  whole  party,  men  and  camels  alike, 
sat  down  and  groaned.  It  had  been  absolutely  torrid, 
without  a  breath  of  wind.  The  girbas  began  to  look 
distinctly  thin  and  the  clank  of  the  water  in  the  fanatis 
showed  that  a  good  deal  had  evaporated.  Unfortunately, 
it  had  been  very  cold  after  the  sandstorm  the  evening 
before  our  departure  from  the  Zakar  well  and  the 
camels  had  not  drunk  properly.  Yusuf  had  made 
gloomy  prognostications  most  of  the  day  and  when  we 
came  to  a  mound  of  sand,  which  had  drifted  over  a  few 
old  hawias  thrown  away  by  a  former  caravan,  he  poked 
them  viciously.  "How  many  of  our  own  shall  we  throw 
in  this  way?"  he  asked  of  fate. 

There  is  no  logic  in  desert  weather.  After  midday 
heat  we  had  a  very  cold  night.  I  remember  I  ate  my 
chilly  dinner  with  my  gloves  on  and  was  not  surprised 
to  find  there  was  frost,  when  a  sudden  storm  of  shouts 
and  roars  brought  me  rapidly  out  of  my  flea-bag  and  I 
fell  over  the  thermometer  in  the  dark.  The  camels 


THE  ELUSIVE  DUNES  275 

apparently  had  gone  wildly  mad,  for  in  spite  of  their  agals 
they  were  all  hobbling  and  hopping  wildly  round  making 
immense  noise,  which  the  retinue  were  exceeding  in  their 
anxiety  to  drive  the  beasts  away  from  our  neatly  arranged 
girbas,  protected,  as  usual  at  night,  by  a  hedge  of  baggage 
saddles. 

February  4  saw  us  away  by  6.15,  a  good  effort, 
chiefly  due  to  a  loading  race  between  Amar  and  Yusuf 
against  the  guide  and  Mohammed.  I  think  the  former 
couple  won,  but  all  the  loads  were  a  little  wobbly  that  day. 
A  black  duck  flew  low  across  our  path,  heading  north. 
"It  has  gone  into  the  upside-down  country,"  said  Sulei- 
man, pointing  ahead;  and  there,  on  the  far  horizon,  we 
saw  pale  dunes  and  ridges,  clear-cut,  with  violet  shadows 
below  peak  and  cliff.  They  looked  but  a  few  hours' 
march  away  and  we  were  all  immensely  happy,  though 
we  knew  they  were  more  than  a  day's  journey  away. 

Again  it  was  very  hot,  but  Yusuf,  who  always  enjoyed 
a  burning  sun,  took  it  upon  himself  to  cheer  up  the  whole 
party.  When  a  camel  lay  down  and  groaned,  he  carefully 
made  a  row  of  toy  "asidas"  in  the  sand,  modelling  the 
little  hole  at  the  top  for  a  sauce  with  infinite  trouble. 
"These  are  for  him  to  eat,  then  he  will  be  strong  again," 
he  said  smiling.  When  Suleiman  complained  of  his 
eyesight  the  plump  one  cried:  "I  will  ride  ahead  and 
see  the  way."  And,  mounting  his  stick,  he  gambolled 
round,  imitating  every  trick  and  gesture  of  horsemanship 
with  perfect  art.  Finally,  when  the  rest  of  us  were  so 
oppressed  by  the  heat  that  we  only  wondered  what  we 
could  take  off  next,  we  saw  Yusuf  solemnly  fill  the  skirt 
of  his  shirt  with  sand  and  begin  sowing  it  like  grain  right 
and  left.  "What  on  earth  are  you  doing,  you  man?" 
exclaimed  Mohammed.  "The  next  traveller  will  find  a 
patch  of  green  grain  and  will  be  happy,"  he  said  placidly. 
Nevertheless,  that  night,  when  the  elusive  dunes  had 


276   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

failed  to  materialise  even  as  shadows  on  the  horizon, 
anxiety  spread.  Hassanein  balanced  himself  perilously 
upright  on  the  back  of  the  Tebu  beast,  but  could  report 
nothing  in  sight,  so  consoled  himself  by  re-mending  his 
yellow  shoes. 

All  the  afternoon  there  had  been  disputes  as  to  whether 
we  should  go  east  or  west  of  certain  invisible  dunes,  and 
the  retinue  disagreed  violently  as  to  how  soon  we  ought 
to  see  these  landmarks  or  in  what  direction  they  were. 
Therefore,  I  was  not  surprised  when  I  heard  a  bitter 
argument  behind  me.  Reproaches  were  being  hurled  at 
Suleiman,  who  replied  that  he  was  old  and  could  not 

see:  "He  has  lost  the "  wailed  Mohammed.  "We 

must  stop.  We  cannot  go  on."  Yusuf  joined  in.  "Is 
he  sure  he  has  lost  it?  Think,  you  man!  Let  him 
think,  I  tell  you!"  Expostulation  and  suggestion 
followed  in  loud  chaos.  I  had  coped  with  one  such  dispute 
on  the  morning  when  there  should  have  been  a  ridge  to 
the  left  and  there  wasn't!  I  determined  that  Hassanein 
should  struggle  with  this.  Slightly  deaf,  he  was  nodding 
over  his  shoe — making  far  ahead  on  the  grey  camel.  I 
rushed  up  to  him  crossly.  "Get  down  at  once,"  I  urged, 
seizing  the  beast  ruthlessly  by  the  neck  and  feeling  angrier 
than  ever  at  the  sight  of  Hassanein's  mildly  surprised  and 
protesting  face,  as  he  desperately  clutched  his  boots  and 
the  nearest  supporting  rope  in  preparation  to  being 
forcibly  barraked!  "Pull  yourself  together!  Suleiman 
has  lost  the  way.  They  are  all  fighting  desperately.  If 
it's  an  important  landmark  he's  missed  we  had  better 
wait  till  the  morning.  For  heaven's  sake  hurry!" 

One  anguished  glance  at  the  angry  group  in  the 
rear,  who  were  all  pointing  backwards,  was  sufficient  to 
make  Hassanein  swing  off  without  question.  I  watched 
him  literally  propel  himself  into  the  argument,  heard 
"Wallahi!"  furiously  repeated,  saw  hands  flung  sky- 


THE  ELUSIVE  DUNES  277 

wards  and  then,  surprised,  saw  him  extricate  himself 
from  Mohammed's  detaining  hands  and  walk  slowly  back 
to  his  camel,  methodically  picking  up  the  possessions  he 
had  ruthlessly  scattered  at  my  peremptory  request. 
"Well,  what  is  it?  What  has  he  lost?"  I  shouted  im- 
patiently. Hassanein  waited  till  he  was  quite  near  and 
then  he  gave  me  a  withering  look  and  said  very  slowly, 
each  word  enunciated  separately:  "It — is — a — small — 
leather — bag — which — the — kaimakaan  —  gave  —  him  — 
to — sell — in — Jaghabub.  Suleiman — has  —  left  —  it  — 
behind!" 

On  February  5  we  broke  camp  at  6.30,  singularly 
indifferent  to  coffee  mysteriously  mixed  with  candle- 
grease  and  rice,  hairy  with  girba  fur,  in  our  anxiety  to 
see  the  morning  mirage.  This  time  the  dunes  looked 
even  nearer.  One  could  see  the  wavy  furrows  along  the 
ridges  and  every  separate  golden  hillock,  yet  an  hour  later 
everything  had  vanished  and  the  flat,  fawn  disk  stretched, 
drab  and  monotonous,  on  every  side.  Suleiman  was 
confident,  however,  that  we  should  sleep  in  the  dunes 
that  night.  Yusuf  was  cheerfully  certain  that,  as  we  had 
not  yet  seen  the  Mazul  ridge  to  the  west,  we  should  not 
"see  land"  for  another  day.  When  Beduins  are 
travelling  across  a  big,  trackless  desert,  they  always 
speak  of  any  known  country  as  "the  land."  It  is  rather 
like  a  long  sea  voyage  with  the  guide  as  pilot.  He 
keeps  the  caravan's  head  turned  in  the  right  direction  by 
the  stars  and  waits  to  pick  up  a  familiar  landmark  before 
making  directly  for  his  oasis.  At  10  A.M.  the  old  guide 
uttered  something  nearly  resembling  a  shriek  and  threw 
himself  on  Yusuf 's  neck.  "I  see  the  Mazul!"  he  ex- 
claimed, "and  it  is  near,  very  near."  Leaving  the  pale 
line  of  distant  hillocks  to  our  left,  we  headed  directly 
north  towards  other  dunes  which  began  to  appear,  a  faint 
blur  on  the  horizon.  The  two  little  nagas  edged  away  to 


278   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

the  west  all  day  in  the  most  determined  way.  Yusuf 
said  they  knew  that  their  mothers,  from  whom  we  had 
separated  them  at  Taj,  were  now  travelling  on  the 
Zieghen-Jalo  route  and  instinct  was  driving  them 
towards  the  soldier-slaves'  caravan. 

The  plump  one's  character  always  appeared  to  greater 
advantage  in  really  hard  times.  When  things  were  going 
easily  his  scowl  was  a  marvel  of  discontented  endurance. 
His  eyes  shut  into  little  slits  and  his  voice  became  a 
plaintive  whine.  When  big  difficulties  arose,  when  camels 
were  failing  and  everybody  was  over-tired,  Yusuf  cheered 
up  the  whole  caravan.  His  absurd  little  songs  trickled 
out  hour  after  hour,  he  told  long  fairy  stories  about  giants 
and  princesses,  he  made  elaborate  jokes  which  we  daily 
received  with  new  interest.  Thus,  if  anyone  lagged 
behind  they  were  always  greeted  when  they  rejoined  the 
caravan  as  if  after  a  long  absence,  upon  which  they 
replied  that  they  had  come  from  Jedabia  or  Jalo  in  two 
or  three  days,  were  congratulated  on  their  walk,  and  asked 
minutely  for  news  concerning  every  person  in  the  place. 
This  particular  game  never  wearied  and  we  all  grew  most 
inventive  at  the  expense  of  the  good  folk  at  Jedabia. 

One  would  think  that  in  a  thirteen  hours'  walk  each 
day  one  would  find  time  for  much  conversation,  but  the 
desert  breeds  reserve.  It  is  so  big  that  one's  own  plans 
and  projects  seem  too  little  to  be  talked  about.  Also, 
there  is  so  much  time  to  say  anything  that  one  continually 
puts  it  off  and  ends  by  never  saying  it  at  all.  We  used 
to  walk  for  hours  without  a  word,  till  Yusuf  broke  the 
silence  by  some  reflection  on  his  approaching  marriage 
or  the  sickness  that  he  saw  in  some  camel's  eye.  By  this 
time  I  had  learned  how  to  make  myself  understood  in 
Libya.  The  nouns  are  nearly  all  different,  but  after  one 
had  learnt  a  list  of  those  one  gets  on  very  nicely  with 
but  two  verbs.  To  express  any  more  or  less  peaceful 


THE  ELUSIVE  DUNES  279 

occupation  like  travelling,  stopping,  loading,  unloading, 
letting  fall,  starting,  etc.,  ad  infinitum,  one  employs  the 
word  "shil."  If  one  wishes  to  imply  any  more  vigorous 
or  offensive  action,  like  fighting,  attacking,  climbing 
hurriedly,  eating,  burning,  becoming  angry,  "akal" 
seems  to  be  elastic  enough  to  express  it. 

We  finally  arrived  at  the  dunes  nearly  two  hours 
before  sunset,  luckily  hitting  two  very  big  dunes  that 
were  well-known  landmarks.  Yusuf  wanted  to  turn  in 
behind  them.  Suleiman  insisted  on  going  to  the  right, 
which  brought  us  into  a  wide,  flat  stretch  some  12  kilo- 
meres  long.  We  barraked  at  the  end  of  it  in  a  rising 
wind,  which  soon  put  out  our  little  folding  lantern,  so 
that  we  lost  everything,  including  the  tin  opener,  in  the 
dark.  It  was  rather  a  miserable  night,  for  the  hattab 
we  had  brought  from  the  Mehemsa  was  exhausted  and 
our  efforts  to  make  tea  over  a  little  fire  of  "leaf"  torn 
from  one  of  the  hawias  were  not  very  successful. 

The  water  from  the  girba  we  opened  that  night  was 
really  bad.  Its  colour  and  taste  alike  were  extraordinary, 
so  we  regretfully  decided  to  use  it  only  for  cooking. 
Suleiman  looked  at  it  with  interest.  "We  have  enough 
water,  Hamdulillah !"  he  said.  "In  any  case  I  can 
live  for  a  week  without  drinking."  When  we  questioned 
him  as  to  this  amazing  statement  he  told  us  that  Sidi  el 
Mahdi  habitually  sent  out  caravans  to  explore  the  country 
round  Kufara.  Suleiman,  an  old  man  and  a  boy,  had 
formed  one  of  these  parties,  and  they  had  wandered  as 
far  afield  as  Merg,  thirteen  days  south-east  of  their 
starting-point,  when  one  dark  night  their  camels  were 
stolen  by  a  band  of  brigands.  Presumably  something 
happened  to  the  girbas  and  provisions,  for  in  the  morning 
the  exploring  party  found  themselves  with  enough  water 
and  dates  for  a  day  and  a  half  and  they  were  six  days' 
journey  from  the  nearest  well,  the  Oweinat.  However, 


280   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

the  three  started  off  to  walk  to  it,  actually  carrying  their 
rifles.  The  old  man  got  ill  after  one  day  and  insisted  on 
being  left  behind.  After  two  days  his  erstwhile  com- 
panions discarded  their  rifles.  After  three,  Suleiman  got 
fever  and  lay  down  to  die,  but  the  boy  went  on  and  arrived 
safely  at  the  well.  Our  guide  unexpectedly  recovered 
from  his  fever  after  twenty-four  hours  and  started  off 
again,  walking  only  at  night  and  lying  down  all  day.  He 
arrived  at  Oweinat  on  the  seventh  day  so  exhausted  and 
so  parched  with  thirst  that  he  could  not  get  the  liquid 
down  his  throat,  so  he  lay  in  the  water  in  the  well  for  a 
whole  day  and  was  then  able  to  drink.  Luckily  a  caravan 
had  thrown  away  some  dates,  and  with  a  small  store  of 
these  and  the  little  water  he  could  carry,  Suleiman  calmly 
walked  on  to  Kufara,  another  week's  journey!  The  old 
man  who  had  been  left  to  die  on  the  road  arrived  a  day 
later  with  his  rifle.  The  feat  seems  inconceivable,  but 
Yusuf  vouched  for  the  truth  of  the  story  and  Amar  told 
how  he  had  drunk  only  once  in  72  hours  when  the  water 
in  the  girba  went  bad.  Then  Mohammed,  not  to  be 
outdone  in  endurance,  related  how  he  had  travelled  from 
Jalo  to  Jaghabub  in  four  days  and  four  nights,  without 
sleeping,  eating  as  the  camels  went  along,  because  the 
girbas  were  all  leaking  and  he  was  afraid  of  running 
short  of  water. 

By  this  time  we  felt  that  our  own  little  effort  to  draw 
a  new  red  line  across  a  survey  map  was  very  small  and 
insignificant  and  that  we  should  certainly  be  able  to  walk 
to  Jaghabub  carrying  a  fanatis  and  a  tin  of  corned  beef 
if  necessary!  We  were  much  less  confident  of  it  next 
morning,  however,  when  all  the  camels  turned  up  their 
noses  at  the  date  food  offered  them  and  deliberately  ran 
away.  There  was  nowhere  for  them  to  run  to  among 
the  dunes,  so  we  got  them  back  after  a  laborious  half- 
hour,  but  I  felt  that  the  word  "agal"  and  not  Kufara 


THE  ELUSIVE  DUNES  281 

would  be  written  across  my  heart  in  future!  There  was 
no  fire  that  morning,  and  uncooked  soaked  rice  is  not 
appetising.  I  remember  I  was  tying  the  remains  of  my 
stockings  round  my  feet  when  I  heard  a  gloomy  voice 
say:  "We  ate  the  last  box  of  sardines  last  night  because 
you  lost  the  beef -tin-opener  in  the  sand  and  the  rice  is 
coal  black.  I  wish  you  would  not  be  so  miserly  with 
the  fanatis  water!"  I  didn't  pay  much  attention  as  I 
hadn't  any  more  stockings.  Evidently  the  primrose  and 
scarlet  boots  which  I  had  bought  for  four  mejidies  (six- 
teen shillings)  at  Jof  were  not  suited  for  walking,  for  I 
had  been  wearing  two  pairs  of  woollen  stockings  one 
over  the  other  and  now  they  all  hung  in  shreds  round 
my  feet.  However,  I  did  look  up  when  the  plaintive 
tones  continued.  "I've  found  one  sardine.  He  must 
have  fallen  out  when  you  upset  the  canteen  in  the  sand." 
With  horror  I  saw  a  soddened,  dark  mass  and  on  the 
top  of  it  a  minute  yellow  block  shaped  like  a  fish,  but  I 
did  not  like  to  be  discouraging.  "Are  you  sure  that  there 
is  a  sardine  inside  that  sand?"  I  asked  diffidently.  Has- 
sanein  was  offended.  "Will  you  carve  him  or  shall  I?" 
he  asked  majestically. 

On  February  6  we  plunged  right  into  the  dunes.  On 
the  whole  they  ran  north  to  south  in  great  wavy  ridges, 
which  would  be  impossible  for  camels  to  cross.  In  be- 
tween were  wide  stretches  of  rolling  ground,  rising 
gradually  to  lower  dunes  through  which  Suleiman  con- 
fidently picked  his  way.  The  little  old  man  was  very 
calm.  "I  have  never  been  this  route  before,  but  if  I 
keep  Jedi  in  my  left  eye  we  shall  arrive,  Insha-allah !" 
he  said,  and  when  Yusuf  complained  violently  that  there 
was  no  hattab — the  retinue  had  eaten  raw  flour  and  water 
that  morning — he  answered  simply,  "Allah  will  bring 
provisions."  A  few  minutes  later  we  came  upon  a 
camel  skeleton,  a  most  welcome  sight,  for  it  proved 


282   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

we  were  on  the  right  track;  inside  the  ribs  were  some 
large  slabs  of  dried  dung.  Mohammed  pulled  this  out 
triumphantly.  "A  fire!  A  fire!  Hamdulillah!"  And 
therefore  everyone  was  cheerful  till  Amar  brought  the 
news  that  Yusuf  was  ill.  We  had  seen  the  plump  one 
lie  down  some  way  in  the  rear,  but  thought  he  was  only 
resting  for  half  an  hour,  a  thing  we  all  did  in  turns,  only 
the  difference  between  the  nature  of  East  and  West 
showed  at  these  moments,  for  whereas  the  Beduins  slept 
peacefully  in  the  rear  and  then  ran  after  the  camels,  I 
used  to  toil  on  ahead  and  lay  myself  across  the  path  of 
the  caravan,  so  that  I  must  wake  at  its  approach.  It 
appeared  that  Yusuf  had  fallen  down  and  then  lost  con- 
sciousness for  about  an  hour;  it  was  very  lucky  that  he 
managed  to  catch  up  the  caravan  at  all.  We  mounted  him 
on  the  Tebu  camel,  which  was  the  strongest  of  the  caravan 
but  was  already  showing  signs  of  thirst,  and  toiled  on. 

It  was  much  harder  walking  in  the  dunes,  for  the  sand 
was  soft  and  deep  in  patches,  but  the  great  curly  ridges, 
golden  as  Irish  butter,  which  Yusuf  always  looked  at 
affectionately,  because  they  reminded  him  of  his  beloved 
"asida,"  were  friendly  spirits  after  the  dreary  disk  of  the 
preceding  four  days.  It  was  always  a  thrilling  moment 
when  one  mounted  a  high  gherd,  for  there  was  the  possi- 
bility of  a  view.  Logically  one  could  expect  to  see  only 
waving  yellow  crests,  a  sunlit  expanse  of  sand  valley  and 
mountain  in  every  direction,  but  the  impossible  might 
always  happen.  One  might  espy  a  caravan  or  an  oasis — 
or  at  least  some  hattab! 

For  this  reason  we  always  hastened  ahead  up  the  big 
rises  to  look  down  on  wind-tossed  ranges,  and  towards 
the  evening  we  were  rewarded  for  our  energy  by  the 
appearance  of  little  black  specks  in  one  of  the  hollows. 
"Hattab,"  said  Suleiman  laconically  and  Yusuf  re- 
covered at  the  word — or  perhaps  it  was  the  quinine  which 


THE  ELUSIVE  DUNES  283 

we  had  given  him  earlier  in  the  day!  We  raced  down 
to  the  brittle  stalks  of  twisted  coarse-grained  wood  that 
meant  fires  and  hot  food  that  night,  and  everyone  began 
to  talk  of  what  they  would  eat! 

Just  after  sunset  we  came  to  an  almost  perpendicular 
dune  which  the  camels  refused  to  descend.  We  had  to 
dig  a  sloping  trough  down  it  and  push  the  beasts  into  it 
one  by  one.  Everybody  was  tired  and  the  camels  were 
incredibly  stupid.  The  young  nagas  simply  rolled  down, 
flinging  their  loads  in  front  of  them,  at  which  Mohammed 
lost  his  temper  and  made  matters  worse  by  violently 
beating  the  animals,  still  hesitating  at  the  top.  They 
stumbled  forward  in  a  huddled  mass,  and  I  saw  the 
girbas  threatened.  Luckily  the  Tebu  beast  was  carrying 
most  of  them.  He  plunged  solidly  down  on  his  great 
splay  feet  and  I  had  just  enough  energy  left  to  seize  his 
head-rope  and  drag  him  out  of  the  chaos.  We  barraked 
before  our  short-sighted  guide  could  lead  us  over  another 
such  precipice  and,  because  it  was  a  joy  to  be  wasteful 
of  anything  on  that  journey,  we  made  no  fewer  than  three 
fires  and  recklessly  poured  everything  we  could  find  into 
the  frying-pan  together — rice  and  corned  beef  and  tinned 
turnips — so  that  we  ate  a  hot,  very  hot,  meal.  We  even 
drank  our  one  cup  of  tea  hot,  debating  the  while  whether 
coffee  were  not  preferable,  for,  though  it  made  one  thirsty, 
it  somewhat  hid  the  taste  of  the  girba  water. 

Everything  by  now  tasted  slightly  of  wax,  for,  in  the 
hot  days,  all  the  candles  had  melted  in  the  canteen.  It 
is  certainly  possible  to  clean  pots  and  pans  beautifully 
with  sand,  but  it  needs  a  great  deal  of  energy  to  do  it 
and  I  defy  anyone  to  have  any  superfluous  energy  after 
loading  and  feeding  camels  before  a  twelve  to  thirteen 
hours'  march,  unloading  and  feeding  the  tired  and  smelly 
beasts  at  the  end  of  it,  agaling  them  while  they  persist- 
ently tried  to  escape,  preparing  some  sort  of  a  meal 


284    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

and  then,  worst  of  all,  oh!  intolerably  worst,  the  sand- 
rash  that  tortured  our  nights !  Let  no  one  who  dreams  of 
a  poetic,  Swinburnian  desert  come  to  Libya!  We  had 
not  washed  anything  but  our  hands  since  leaving  Hawari 
thirteen  days  before  and  not  even  these  since  the  Zakar 
well;  since  then  we  had  had  a  sandstorm  which  had 
filled  every  pore  with  minute  grit,  so  that  by  day  the 
irritation  was  just  bearable,  but  at  night,  in  the  warmth 
and  the  restricted  space  of  the  flea-bag,  it  was  a  torture 
beyond  belief.  I  used  to  feel  that  never,  so  long  as  I 
lived,  would  I  able  to  bear  seeing  water  spilled  or 
wasted. 

Fate  had  been  cruel  to  us  in  one  respect,  for  the 
day  at  the  Zakar  well,  when  we  had  dreamed  of  sandy 
baths  in  the  canteen  lid  behind  a  friendly  palm  tree, 
she  had  sent  us  the  first  of  our  two  sandstorms,  so  wash- 
ing had  been  confined  to  a  teacup  for  our  fingers.  One 
lay  at  night,  sleepless  and  burning,  and  looked  up  at 
the  aloof  peace  of  the  stars  and  wondered  vindictively 
how  one  could  get  even  with  the  desert  for  this  last 
trick  of  hers.  Yet,  in  the  cold,  still  dawn,  the  desperate 
tiredness  vanished  and  one  made  a  huge,  unnecessary 
fire  to  breakfast  by  and  ate  black  rice  with  immense 
relish.  Yusuf  was  very  proud  of  his  skill  as  a  cook,  so 
we  did  not  like  to  tell  him  of  all  the  foreign  bodies  we 
found  in  our  food — bits  of  leaf  and  straw  from  the 
baggage  saddles,  grit,  hair,  pebbles  and  sand — it  was  the 
Libyan  sauce  and  I  think  Hassanein  suffered  much  in 
silence,  for  it  was  his  first  desert  journey  and  he  still 
hankered  after  cleanliness.  I  used  to  find  him  desperately 
and  secretly  rubbing  a  plate  with  a  corner  of  his  muffler 
or  his  best  silk  handkerchief  and,  whenever  he  was  late 
for  breakfast,  I  knew  it  was  because  he  had  been  unwise 
enough  to  look  at  his  cup  or  fork  before  using  them! 

On  our  second  day  in  the  dunes  the  flat  spaces  grew 


THE  ELUSIVE  DUNES  285 

rarer,  so  that  we  climbed  up  and  down  ridges  most  of 
the  time.  The  camels  began  to  show  signs  of  wear. 
One  of  the  nagas  trailed  her  head  most  of  the  time. 
The  big  blond  beast  had  to  be  relieved  of  his  load. 
They  were  all  very  smelly,  which  is  the  first  sign 
of  thirst.  Luckily,  we  found  patches  of  green  hattab, 
the  prickly,  juiceless  bush  of  the  Mehemsa,  scattered 
under  the  dunes  and  the  animals  raced  to  it,  fighting 
for  the  freshest  tufts.  Amar  got  fever  and  had  to 
be  allowed  to  ride,  while  I  was  so  tired  that  I  found 
a  way  of  festooning  myself  over  the  pegs  of  the  baggage 
saddles,  my  knees  wound  round  one  and  my  neck  round 
another.  In  this  extraordinarily  uncomfortable  position 
I  actually  dozed,  while  Yusuf  wandered  beside  me  doubt- 
fully. "You  are  very  long,"  he  said  politely.  "I  think 
you  will  fall."  And  he  tried  to  double  up  a  dangling 
foot  much  as  if  it  was  a  piece  of  baggage  slipping. 

I  could  not  understand  the  presence  of  green  bushes 
till  I  found  my  pillow  that  night  wet  with  a  heavy  dew. 
Then  I  realised  that  we  had  left  the  southern  lands 
behind  us  and  next  day,  February  8,  there  were  a  few 
little  clouds  in  the  sky,  just  specks  of  fluffy  white,  but 
we  had  become  used  to  the  molten  blue  that  roofs  the 
red  country  of  Kufara  and  her  encircling  wastes.  That 
was  for  me  the  worst  day.  The  little  camels  persistently 
threw  their  loads,  ill-balanced  because  the  fodder  had 
become  so  much  lighter.  There  was  a  cold  east  wind, 
which  blistered  one's  skin  on  one  side,  while  the  sun 
scorched  it  on  the  other.  The  camels  would  not  keep 
together,  but  strayed  off  to  each  patch  of  green.  The 
dunes  seemed  steeper  than  ever  and  the  sand  softer  and 
heavier.  No  one  was  sure  of  the  way.  Even  Suleiman 
was  a  little  depressed  at  not  picking  up  any  of  the  land- 
marks he  had  known  on  previous  journeys.  He  insisted 
on  keeping  his  course  due  north,  though  we  knew 


286   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

Jaghabub  lay  north-east,  and  his  only  explanation  was 
that  it  was  easier  to  approach  the  place  from  the  west. 
Logically,  I  thought  it  would  be  easier  to  strike  east, 
so  that  if  one  went  past  Jaghabub  one  would  at  least 
reach  Siwa.  To  the  west  lay  only  the  seven  days' 
waterless  stretch  to  Jalo. 

However,  Suleiman  was  immovable  and  we  plodded 
wearily  on,  placing  one  foot  in  front  of  the  other  with 
desperate  firmness  and  flinging  ourselves  flat  on  our 
faces  for  a  few  minutes'  blessed  sleep  whenever  the 
camels  lingered  to  feed.  I  remember  wondering,  as  I 
dragged  myself  up  after  one  of  these  short  respites,  how 
many  separate  and  distinct  aches  one's  body  could  feel 
at  the  same  moment.  I  was  getting  quite  interested 
in  the  problem  when  Hassanein's  bronzed  face — it 
seemed  to  have  grown  hollow  these  last  few  days — 
appeared  beside  me.  He  was  painfully  shuffling  on 
blistered  feet  after  a  twelve  hours'  walk  the  previous 
day.  "When  we  get  to  Cairo  everyone  will  say, 
What  fun  you  must  have  had!' '  he  said  drearily. 
Even  this  idea  could  not  make  me  speak.  I  had  dis- 
covered it  was  easier  to  walk  with  my  eyes  shut  and  so, 
mutely,  I  shuffled  after  the  guide,  dragging  my  stick 
till  I  dropped  it  and  was  too  tired  to  pick  it  up  again. 

Yes,  it  was  a  bad  day,  but  it  ended  at  last  with  a 
few  patches  of  black  pebbles,  sure  sign  that  we  were 
nearing  the  northern  edge  of  the  dunes.  Even  the 
sand  rash,  combined  with  a  most  remarkable  tasting  dish 
produced  by  Hassanein's  efforts  to  clean  the  frying-pan, 
could  not  keep  me  awake  that  night  and  I  slept  soundly 
till  Yusuf's  plaintive  voice,  saying  all  in  one  breath, 
"Allah-make-you-strong-the-fire-is-ready-for  -  the -rice!" 
roused  me  to  a  starry  world  and  an  exceedingly  damp 
one,  but  I  imagine  these  very  heavy  dews  helped  the 
thirsty  camels  considerably,  so  I  didn't  regret  a  wet 


THE  ELUSIVE  DUNES  287 

barracan  which  twisted  itself  reluctantly  round  everything 
but  me! 

February  9  was  memorable,  for  on  climbing  the  high 
dune  under  which  we  had  camped  we  saw  a  long,  faint 
ridge,  blue  on  the  north-east  horizon.  "Land  at  last!" 
exclaimed  Mohammed.  "It  must  be  the  mountain 
between  Jaghabub  and  Siwa!"  Even  this  reassuring 
suggestion  would  not  turn  our  guide  from  his  northerly 
course,  but  signs  that  we  were  leaving  the  great  desert 
abounded.  So  far  the  only  living  things  had  been  large, 
unpleasant  beetles,  mottled  black  and  fawn  creatures, 
some  nearly  four  inches  long,  which  looked  like  scattered 
stones  till  they  suddenly  raised  themselves  on  long  legs 
and  scuttled  away.  That  morning,  however,  we  saw 
many  black  and  grey  birds  and  at  last,  when  the  green 
patches  of  hattab  had  developed  into  large  brown-like 
shrubs  and  neat  little  dwarf  trees,  leafless  and  but  two 
or  three  feet  high,  we  came  across  gazelle  traces.  We 
also  found  two  complete  skulls  with  the  tapering  horns 
in  perfect  condition.  The  country  was  changing  notice- 
ably. The  previous  day  there  had  been  a  few  patches  of 
the  Jaghabub  grey  stone  among  the  sand,  the  sight  of 
which  filled  the  retinue  with  delight.  On  February  9 
great  blocks  of  it  appeared  in  fantastic  masses  rising 
suddenly  from  dune  and  hollow.  We  noticed  scattered 
pieces  of  fossilised  wood,  some  of  which  appeared  to  have 
been  part  of  the  trunks  of  big  trees.  Stretches  of  what 
looked  like  black  pebbles  shimmered  dark  beyond  the 
farthest  ridge. 

Finally,  Mohammed,  mounting  an  immense  curly 
backed  sand  peak  at  noon,  tore  off  his  turban,  tied  it 
round  his  staff  and,  waving  it  bannerwise  above  his  head, 
shouted  wildly,  "I  see  my  country!  The  land  is  near!" 
The  camels  were  the  only  indifferent  beings  in  the 
caravan.  They  were  too  tired  to  quicken  the  pace, 


288   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

which  had  dropped  to  two  miles  an  hour  during  the 
last  day  or  two.  They  had  got  very  thin,  with  dull 
eyes,  but  luckily  there  was  a  slight  breeze  to  relieve 
the  intense  heat  which  scorched  us  whenever  we  stopped 
for  grazing  in  a  hollow.  There  were  streaks  of  white 
cloud  in  the  pale  sky  and  I  imagined  a  breath  of  salt 
flavoured  the  northern  breeze,  so  that  suddenly  I  was 
desperately  home-sick  for  the  great  free  desert,  lawless 
and  boundless,  that  we  were  leaving.  Ahead  were  the 
comfortable  lands  where  the  nomads  camp  in  their 
tattered  "nuggas"  and  the  Beduins  pasture  their  herds, 
the  Gebel  Akhbar  and  Cyrenaica,  the  welcome  of  the 
tent-dwellers  for  all  caravans  who  have  travelled  the 
"big  routes." 

Somewhere,  "east  of  us,"  said  the  compass,  "north 
of  us,"  said  Suleiman,  lay  the  last  outpost  of  the  wilder- 
ness, if  not  the  birthplace,  at  least  the  training  ground 
of  Senussi-ism,  but  the  lure  of  space  dragged  one's  mind 
back.  The  claw  of  the  desert  was  tearing  away  the 
peace  that  should  lie  at  a  journey's  end.  I  do  not  think 

1  ever   felt   mentally   flatter   than   when,    just    before 

2  A.M.,  we  passed  through  the  last  little  hollow  where 
green  and  gold  were  mixed   and  the   mighty   belt   of 
dunes   lay  behind  us.     In   front   was   a  most   desolate 
country  of  grey  slate  and  streaks  of  white  chalky  sand 
and  pebbles,  with  here  and  there  a  dull  madder  gherd 
or  stony  cliff.     A  faint  thrill  of  interest  was  given  to  the 
moment  by  the  fact  that  none  of  the  retinue  knew  where 
we  were,  but  as  I  was  determined  that  east  we  should 
now  go,  whatever  they  said,  it  did  not  much  matter. 

Suleiman  climbed  one  dune  and  said  we  were  between 
the  hatias  of  Bu  Alia  and  Bu  Salama  on  the  Jalo  road. 
Mohammed  climbed  another  and  said  that  both  these 
places  were  to  the  east  of  us.  Yusuf  lay  down  firmly 
on  a  soft  spot  and  said  that  all  known  country  was  still 


THE  ELUSIVE  DUNES  289 

to  the  north  and  he  was  going  to  sleep  till  the  guide 
found  his  head  again. 

The  happy-go-lucky  Beduin  spirit  had  completely 
got  possession  of  us,  so  no  one  was  particularly  surprised 
when,  after  an  hour  on  the  course  insisted  on  by  the 
compass  and  myself,  we  picked  up  a  definite  trail  with 
some  slabs  of  stones  stuck  upright  as  landmarks.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  we  had  struck  the  Jalo-Jaghabub  route, 
rather  more  than  a  day's  journey  west  of  the  latter 
place,  but  at  the  time  nobody  was  certain  as  to  our 
exact  position.  Amar,  however,  announced  that  un- 
doubtedly Bu  Alia  lay  behind  us,  and  no  sooner  had  the 
whole  retinue  agreed  on  that  one  point  than  the  begin- 
ning of  the  hatia  of  that  name  became  visible  a  few 
hundred  yards  ahead!  "Hamdulillah!  We  shall  camp 
to-night  in  our  own  country!"  exclaimed  Mohammed, 
and  hurried  on  the  caravan  in  spite  of  Yusuf 's  expostula- 
tions. Gazelle  tracks  were  now  plentiful  and  we  tried 
to  track  down  four  in  the  hope  of  getting  a  shot,  but 
Suleiman  was  nearly  dead-beat.  "The  last  word  is  in 
your  hands,"  he  said,  "but  I  am  an  old  man  and  very 
tired.  Let  us  barrak  here." 

The  hatia  was  really  a  wadi  stretching  about  5  kilo- 
metres north  to  south,  with  a  breadth  of  4  kilometres. 
The  whole  space  between  the  white  shale  and  sand 
banks  was  filled  with  mounds  and  shrubs  of  hattab, 
mostly  green,  while  here  and  there  massive  blocks  of 
greyish  sandstone  stuck  up  in  strange  shapes.  As  one 
wandered  slowly  through  the  low  bushes  far  away  to 
the  north  a  long  purplish  ridge  with  a  mound  at  the 
end  shaped  exactly  like  the  dome  of  a  mosque  caught 
the  first  red  of  the  sunset.  "That  is  the  gherd  of  the 
qubba,"  exclaimed  Yusuf,  his  round  tired  face  lighting 
up,  "and  look,  in  front  of  us  is  the  Gara  of  Sidi  el 
Mahdi!"  At  the  farthest  end  of  the  hatia  was  an 


290  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

immense  block  of  red  sandstone  flung  up  by  the  hands 
of  some  forgotten  giant  upon  a  mighty  base  of  polished 
white,  so  that  it  looked  like  a  primeval  altar  to  the 
gods  of  earth  and  sky.  Here  the  Mahdi  used  to  halt 
his  immense  caravans  on  the  Jalo  journey  and  under 
the  shadow  of  the  rough  natural  sanctuary  pray  for  a 
prosperous  venture  or  give  thanks  for  a  safe  return. 

Even  Suleiman  spoke  no  more  of  barraking.  With- 
out a  word  spoken,  everyone  felt  that  the  Maghrib 
prayers  must  be  said  where  the  spirit  of  the  Mahdi 
would  surely  welcome  travellers  from  the  far-off  oasis, 
whose  red  and  amber  he  had  changed  to  wealth  of  grain 
and  fruit  and  flowers.  The  weary  camels  were  hurried 
from  their  indifferent  nibbling  among  the  dry  shrubs. 
When  the  full  glory  of  the  golden  west  lit  up  the 
strange  altar,  balanced  between  heaven  and  earth,  and 
the  faint  silver  crescent  of  a  new  moon  glowed  pale 
amidst  the  flame,  we  came  round  the  corner  of  the  rock 
and  saw  the  simplest  kibla  that  ever  the  faithful  turned 
towards  the  Ka-aba.  It  was  but  three  grey,  rough 
boulders,  with  a  circle  of  stones  to  mark  the  shape  of 
an  imaginary  mosque,  yet  it  was  holy  ground  and  we 
left  our  worn  shoes  outside,  before  we  bowed  our  faces 
to  the  desert  sands.  What  prayers  the  stern  Mohammed 
mixed  with  his,  "In  the  name  of  Allah  compassionate 
and  merciful,"  I  know  not.  What  simple  thanksgivings 
were  murmured  by  our  weather-beaten  guide,  if  the 
young  zawia  student,  Amar,  grasped  the  perils  from 
which  he  had  been  protected,  if  Yusuf's  mind  realised 
for  one  fleeting  moment  that  there  was  something  beyond 
his  comfortable  practicality,  I  cannot  guess,  but  I  know 
that  never  in  my  life  have  I  offered  more  whole-hearted 
gratitude  to  the  Power  that,  called  by  many  different 
names  in  many  different  cities,  is  omnipotent  in  the 
deserts! 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  END  OF  THE  JOURNEY 

WE  camped  that  night  at  Bu  Salama,  the  next 
hatia  on  the  way  to  Jaghabub.  The  wood  was 
too  green  to  make  really  good  fires,  though 
Mohammed  and  Hassanein  laboured  manfully  in  the 
sand.  The  rest  of  us  were  too  tired  to  care  what  hap- 
pened, provided  we  could  lie  down  and  not  move  for 
hours  and  hours.  The  grey  camel  evidently  shared  our 
feelings,  for  he  had  fallen  in  barraking.  Amar,  hopping 
round  him  distressfully  without  making  the  slightest 
attempt  to  help  the  rider,  called  repeatedly  on  the  name 
of  Sidi  el  Mahdi.  It  is  amazing  the  complete  faith  every 
Senussi  has  in  the  spiritual  and  mental  power  of  the 
Sayeds.  Whenever  the  young  nagas  ran  away  old  Sulei- 
man used  to  stand  perfectly  still  and  repeat  urgently, 
"Influence  of  Sidi  Idris!  Influence  of  Sidi  Idris!" 
While  once,  while  sleeping  perilously  in  a  more  than 
usually  odd  position,  I  nearly  fell  as  my  camel  stumbled 
down  a  dune,  Yusuf  muttered  the  name  of  every  Sayed 
living  and  dead  to  ensure  my  safety. 

I  have  never  travelled  in  any  country  so  united  in 
devotion  to  its  ruler  as  Libya.  Presumably  Sidi  Idris  is 
somewhat  less  powerful  than  Allah  in  the  eyes  of  the 
Senussi,  but  he  is  nearer  at  hand!  Their  confidence  in 
his  capabilities  is  so  unbounded  that  it  must  occasionally 
embarrass  the  Sayed  himself.  From  curing  a  camel  a 
thousand  miles  pway  to  stopping  a  sandstorm,  from 
conquering  the  world  to  producing  a  well  where  there 

291 


292    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

is  no  water,  all  are  within  the  power  of  the  son  of  Sidi 
el  Mahdi.  Our  own  prestige  as  friends  of  so  important 
and  puissant  a  personage  was,  therefore,  considerably 
lowered  when  we  humbly  suggested  that  the  retinue  had 
better  leave  their  varied  armoury  in  Jaghabub  as  we  could 
not  guarantee  that  the  Egyptian  frontier  authorities 
would  allow  them  to  enter  Siwa.  Yusuf  looked  blank. 

"But  you  will  write  a  letter "  he  suggested.  He  knew 

the  all-powerful,  almost  magical  effect  of  a  missive  from 
Sidi  Idris  in  Libya,  and  reasoned  that  his  guests  could 
surely  arrange  the  simple  affair  of  the  rifles  in  their  own 
country  by  putting  pen  to  paper.  When  we  confessed  our 
impotence  he  entertained  the  gravest  doubts  as  to  our 
position  and  respectability! 

We  had  decided  to  send  Mohammed  on  to  Jaghabub 
before  sunrise  so  that  we  might  sleep  next  night  in  a 
house.  Therefore,  long  after  I  had  retired  into  my  flea- 
bag,  I  saw  Hassanein  and  Yusuf  struggling  to  shave  our 
delightful  retainer  by  the  light  of  the  camp  fire  with  a 
safety  razor  blade  held  in  a  pair  of  pliers.  Suleiman 
and  Amar  offered  interested  suggestions  interspersed 
with  remarks  on  the  number  of  grey  hairs  which  had 
resulted  from  the  journey. 

In  spite  of  the  eight  hours'  journey  ahead,  Mohammed 
donned  his  best  clothes  to  present  himself  at  the  zawia 
where  he  had  been  educated.  Therefore  I  was  surprised 
when  Yusuf  started  next  morning  in  his  ragged  white 
shirt  and  patched  waterproof.  "I  always  ride  the  last 
day  of  a  journey,"  he  announced  firmly,  depositing  him- 
self on  the  least  weary  camel. 

We  broke  camp  at  7  A.M.  and  straggled  slowly  by 
dreary  grey  gherds  and  uneven  stretches  of  colourless 
sands  and  stones  to  a  small  hatia,  Bahet  Hafan,  where  a 
few  palms  grew  among  more  fantastic  boulders.  The 
heat  was  intense  as  we  entered  a  country  of  low  white 


THE  EXD  OF  THE  JOURNEY          293 

hillocks,  with  slabs  of  shale  that  made  the  camels  stumble 
more  than  ever;  but  the  end  came  with  unexpected 
rapidity,  for,  after  the  guide  had  told  us  under  a  noon 
sun  that  it  was  a  long  day's  march  to  Jaghabub,  Yusuf 
spied  the  white  qubba  of  the  zawia  from  a  friendly  gherd. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  whole  round  wadi  spread  before  us, 
with  its  strips  of  scattered  palms  and  brushwood,  and 
beyond  a  line  of  square  sandstone  cliffs  the  white  walls 
of  Jaghabub  that  looked  so  near  and  that  took  us  more 
than  two  hours  to  reach. 

The  home  of  Sidi  Ben  Ali  is  by  far  the  most  pic- 
turesque of  the  Senussi  oases,  for  it  is  blinding  white  in 
the  sunshine — a  smooth,  polished  cupola  and  tall  madna, 
with  the  open-arched  gallery  of  Sidi  Idris's  house  rising 
above  the  massive,  fortress-like  walls  of  the  zawia,  all 
white — white  as  the  windmills  that  look  like  marble 
pillars  in  the  distance  or  the  pale  sand  brick  of  the  few 
big  houses  that  surround  the  zawia.  Jaghabub  is  not  a 
town  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word.  It  is  one  immense 
building  with  thick,  windowless  walls,  surrounding  a 
maze  of  courts,  passages,  schools,  lodgings  for  students, 
the  big  houses  of  the  Senussi  family  and  the  large  mosque 
and  qubba  of  Sidi  Ben  Ali.  It  stands  on  a  cliff  from 
which  flights  of  steps  lead  down  to  palm  gardens  and  the 
one  big  well  that  supplies  water  to  the  whole  settlement. 
Outside  the  massed,  many-storied  buildings  of  the  zawia 
are  a  few  scattered  houses,  but  Jaghabub  is  a  university 
pure  and  simple.  When  Sidi  el  Mahdi  removed  his  head- 
quarters to  Kufara  he  freed  half  a  hundred  slaves,  giving 
them  the  gardens  that  they  cultivated  and  ordering  that 
their  rights  should  be  respected  by  his  successors;  so  now 
there  is  a  colony  of  these  liberated  blacks  who  live  among 
the  palms  in  the  wadi.  They  work  hard  in  their  vegetable 
gardens,  which  are  irrigated  by  an  excellent  system  of 
channels  and  reservoirs  dependent  on  the  spring  below 


294  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

the  zawia,  and  they  sell  their  dates  and  produce  to  the 
college. 

Two  of  the  students  met  us  half-way  across  the  wadi 
with  a  note  from  Mohammed  saying  that  rooms  were 
being  prepared  for  us  in  the  zawia  and  Yusuf  promptly 
proceeded  to  change  his  clothes.  He  tore  off  his  tattered 
shirt,  baring  a  muscular  brown  torso  to  the  public  gaze, 
produced  a  mysterious  bundle  from  a  sack  on  my  camel 
and  shook  from  it  embroidered  waistcoat,  silk  jerd, 
yellow  shoes  and  immaculate  white  linen,  all  of  which  he 
donned  as  we  walked  along.  When  the  white  walls  were 
very  near  we  fired  our  revolvers  into  the  air  to  announce 
our  arrival  and  Mohammed  came  out  to  meet  us,  smiling 
broadly.  We  passed  through  a  big,  white  arch  into  a 
wide,  open  space  with  a  well  in  the  middle,  round  which 
were  clustered  groups  of  students  who  gave  us  warm 
greeting.  To  the  right  rose  the  solid,  castle-like  wall  of 
Sidi  Idris's  house,  whose  gallery  on  the  other  side  looked 
down  on  to  a  beautiful  square  court  of  the  qubba  with 
its  wide-arched  and  columned  arcades.  The  fa9ade  near 
the  square  is  pierced  by  a  few  shuttered  windows  and 
the  carved  main  door  through  which  one  goes  to  the 
qubba  court.  To  the  left  the  square  was  bordered  by  a 
row  of  neat  little  round-lintelled  doors,  each  with  a  slit 
of  window  above  it,  the  lodging-houses  for  the  students. 
A  big,  two-storied  house  rose  beyond  and,  at  the  door 
of  this,  we  were  met  by  a  delightful  old  man  with  pale, 
thin  face,  a  long  beard  as  white  as  his  woollen  jerd  or 
the  colourless  walls  behind  him. 

"Greeting  to  you  and  the  peace  of  Allah!"  he  said, 
and  led  us  into  a  dwelling  more  complicated  even  than 
the  kaimakaan's  house  of  many  courts  at  Taj.  We 
went  up  and  down  little  flights  of  steps  which  seemed  to 
exist  without  reason,  under  low  arches,  by  odd  little 
passages  and  mud-floored  yards,  till  a  longer  staircase  led 


THE  END  OF  THE  JOURNEY          295 

us  to  a  flat  roof,  across  which  we  followed  our  host  to 
a  large  high  room,  matted  and  carpeted,  but  devoid  of 
furniture.  For  the  first  time  I  lived  in  an  Arab  house 
which  had  a  view  from  the  windows,  for  here  there  was 
no  yard  to  shut  one  into  a  mysterious  little  world  of 
secluded  privacy.  From  the  cross-barred  windows  with 
swinging  shutters  one  looked  down  on  the  big  square 
and  the  white  figures  gossiping  round  the  well  or  across 
to  the  group  of  our  weary  camels,  literally  bulging  after 
their  enormous  drink,  to  students  seated  at  the  doors  of 
their  rooms  with  Koran  and  rosary. 

Our  host,  Sidi  Yadem  Bu  Gemira,  one  of  the  im- 
portant ekhwan,  was  so  anxious  to  hear  the  complete 
story  of  our  journey  that  he  would  not  leave  us  before 
we  had  drunk  sweet  coffee,  seated  on  his  best  carpet, 
and  answered  all  his  questions  as  to  why  we  had  come 
from  Kufara  by  such  a  hard  route.  Before  we  had 
satisfied  his  kindly  curiosity,  Sidi  el  Fagil,  plump  and 
ebony-faced,  with  greying  moustache,  the  Imam  of  the 
mosque,  and  other  ekhwan,  had  hurried  to  visit  us.  I 
was  so  tired  I  could  hardly  hold  up  my  head.  My  nose 
was  blistered  and  peeling,  my  face  burning,  my  eyes 
watering.  I  was  intensely  hungry.  Every  nerve  seemed 
to  be  throbbing  and  aching  and,  above  all,  I  was  conscious 
of  dirt.  I  felt  completely  vague  as  I  leaned  against  the 
wall  and,  when  a  murmur  of  voices  below  suggested  the 
possibility  of  other  visits,  I  basely  left  Hassanein  to 
entertain  the  venerable  ekhwan  and  crept  down  a  discreet 
little  stairway  to  a  quaint-shaped  room  that  lurked  under 
one  of  the  innumerable  archways,  forgotten,  I  think, 
by  the  architect,  who  must  have  had  a  most  tortuous 
mind.  It  was  full  of  dust  and  clay,  but  I  felt  a  little 
more  dirt  did  not  matter,  and  here  I  was  found  by  the 
kindly  Yusuf,  when  the  last  visitor  had  gone,  fast  asleep 
on  Hassanein's  grimy  jerd. 


296   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

"The  Sitt  Khadija  must  eat,"  he  said.  "The  wakil 
of  Sidi  Idris  has  sent  you  dinner."  The  magic  word 
roused  me  and  the  sight  of  a  gleaming  brass  tray  set 
on  a  little  table  6  inches  high  in  the  middle  of  our 
unbroken  sea  of  carpet  finished  the  cure.  When  we 
lifted  the  palm-leaf  covers  from  the  bowls  we  found 
eggs,  pigeons  and  vegetables  cooked  in  wonderful  savoury 
sauces,  with  piles  of  most  delicious  bread,  brown  and 
flaky,  but,  alas!  every  cunning  sauce  was  so  impregnated 
with  red  pepper  that  we  had  most  gingerly  to  remove 
the  pigeons  and  dust  them  carefully  before  eating,  after 
which  we  regretfully  deposited  a  just  proportion  of  the 
rest  of  the  meal  in  a  carefully  prepared  hole  in  a  back- 
yard lest  the  feelings  of  our  host  be  hurt.  We  had 
just  removed  all  traces  of  our  villainy  when  he  appeared 
to  drink  tea  with  us. 

Sidi  Hussein,  the  wakil,  was,  of  all  the  hosts  who 
generously  entertained  us  on  behalf  of  the  Sayeds,  the 
most  delightful  because  he  was  the  most  simple. 
Jaghabub  is  not  a  political  or  mercantile  centre,  like 
Kufara  or  Jalo.  It  has  all  the  dreaming  peace  of  a 
little  university  town,  only  its  dons  are  reverend,  grey- 
bearded  sheikhs  in  flowing  white  jerds  over  grass-green 
or  indigo-blue  robes.  Its  undergraduates  are  graver 
figures,  with  books  and  beads,  than  those  of  Trinity  or 
The  House,  while  the  scouts,  I  suppose,  are  the  black 
slaves  of  hideous  aspect  who  live  in  a  special  court  of 
the  zawia,  but  I  feel  sure  they  are  more  industrious  and 
certainly  more  frugal  than  their  English  counterparts  on 
the  banks  of  the  Isis  and  Cam. 

Sidi  Hussein  made  tea  with  a  formality  as  deliberate 
as  that  of  the  kaimakaan  at  Taj,  but  his  conversation 
was  much  less  ceremonious.  There  was  no  rigid 
etiquette  observed  in  series  of  questions  and  answers. 
For  once  the  undercurrent  of  suspicion  and  unrest  was 


THE  END  OF  THE  JOURNEY         297 

absent  and  we  curled  up  our  mental  antennae  with  a 
feeling  of  complete  peace.  The  little  town,  so  aloof 
from  the  world  in  its  secluded  wadi,  yet  the  nursery  of 
a  great  confraternity  where  still  is  nourished  a  force 
whose  influence  is  felt  all  along  North  Africa,  wished  us 
well.  A  very  intimate  friendliness  pervaded  the  gather- 
ing in  the  semi-gloom  of  the  candle-lit  room.  The 
wakil's  huge  beard  flowed  grey  and  soft  over  dark 
jubba  with  a  many-coloured  waistcoat  beneath,  but  there 
was  no  lavish  display  of  silk  or  embroidery,  because  the 
ekhwan  of  Jaghabub  are  more  devoted  to  learning  than 
to  luxury.  "We  are  poor  men  who  spend  our  time  in 
prayer,"  said  one  of  them  with  the  utmost  simplicity 
and  a  dreamy  look  in  his  faded  old  eyes.  Their  great 
pride  is  their  qubba,  and  a  reflection  for  this  homage 
showed  in  Yusuf's  face  when,  the  night  of  our  arrival, 
just  as  I  had  finished  scrubbing  off  the  first  layer  of 
grime  and  was  wondering  if  I  could  decently  ask  Amar 
to  heat  another  quart  or  two  of  water,  he  arrived  with 
a  guttering  candle  to  suggest  that  I  should  go  at  once 
to  see  the  sanctuary.  "There  will  be  no  people  there 
at  this  hour,"  he  said,  but,  when  we  had  crossed  the 
starlit  square  and  left  our  shoes  inside  the  first  arcade 
of  the  mosque,  we  heard  a  low,  monotonous  chanting 
coming  from  the  shadows  beyond  the  great  white  court! 
It  was  in  keeping  with  the  solemn  spirit  of  the  night 
and  the  scene  and  the  proud  happiness  in  Yusuf's  face, 
as  he  led  me  through  long,  dim  ways  which  he  trod 
unfaltering,  back  again  in  imagination  in  his  boyhood's 
days,  when  perhaps  he  had  been  as  earnest  and  devout 
a  learner  as  the  grave-faced  students  who  passed  us  in 
the  square. 

Through  a  fine  carved  and  painted  door  we  passed 
into  the  mosque,  very  quiet,  white  and  dignified,  the 
dark  carpets  on  the  floor  the  only  rich  note  to  break 


298  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

its  utter  simplicity.  The  silence  began  to  beat  on  my 
ear  drums  with  the  impression  of  so  many  prayers, 
hopes,  resolves,  fervently  uttered  by  youth  in  these  low 
aisles,  remembered  again  by  age  when  it  revisited  the 
earliest  centre  of  its  faith.  Yusuf  did  not  break  it. 
Eyes  bright  with  a  light  I  had  never  seen  in  them 
before,  he  beckoned  me  on  into  the  qubba  itself  and 
we  stood  in  a  painted  chamber,  ornate  with  gold  and 
many  colours,  below  the  big  dome,  hung  with  huge, 
finely  moulded  glass  lamps.  I  murmured  swift  Arabic 
prayers  before  a  square  grid  of  carved  bronze  that 
surrounded  the  tomb  of  the  great  Senussi.  I  was  afraid 
even  the  whisper  of  the  "Fatha"  might  hurt  the 
silence,  for  our  footfalls  were  muffled  by  thick,  piled 
carpets,  but  the  man  whose  mind  I  had  always  imagined 
fixed  on  things  of  the  earth,  earthly,  shattered  it  with 
a  sudden  sound,  half  cry,  half  groan,  as  he  bent  passion- 
ately to  kiss  the  rail  and  afterwards  the  hand  with  which 
he  had  touched  it ! 

In  the  morning,  after  an  excellent  but  peppery 
breakfast  brought  by  Mabruk,  a  hatchet-faced  slave 
whom  we  used  to  watch  running  across  the  square  with 
a  bowl  into  which  he  poked  a  surreptitious  finger  at  our 
door  to  see  if  it  were  still  hot,  I  went  again  to  the 
mosque  and  saw  other  Senussi  tombs.  I  found  the  wide, 
white  arches  had  much  charm  by  sunlight,  but  I  never 
again  caught  the  mystic  spirit  of  the  night  when  the 
living  force  of  Islam  had  flamed  for  a  second  before  my 
eyes. 

Yusuf  proved  an  excellent  guide  to  Jaghabub.  With 
intense  pride  he  took  us  through  the  maze  of  college 
buildings,  pointing  out  the  house  of  each  of  the  Senussi, 
Sidi  Rida,  Sidi  Idris,  Sayed  Ahmed  Sherif,  Sayed  Hilal 
and  Sayed  Safi  ed  Din,  which  make  a  massive  block 
round  the  white  qubba.  In  the  big  open  square,  where 


THE  END  OF  THE  JOURNEY         299 

the  pupils  of  the  zawia  lodge,  he  announced,  "We  each 
of  us  have  a  house  here.  Amar  has  one.  I  have  one. 
We  can  come  back  whenever  we  like.  It  is  our  own 
country."  Thus  the  zawias  hold  their  pupils  long  after 
they  have  gone  out  to  the  cities  and  deserts.  The  portly 
ekhwan,  the  prosperous  merchant,  the  Beduin  sheikh  or 
the  wandering  scribe  may  turn  into  the  zawia  where  he 
has  been  educated,  sure  of  finding  a  room  and  a  welcome. 
Even  the  chance  traveller  may  claim  the  three  days' 
hospitality  of  the  Senussi  and  the  poorer  he  is  the  more 
generous  it  will  be. 

We  spent  two  days  in  the  high  tower  above  the 
square,  talking  simply  about  simple  things  with  the 
ekhwan,  doctoring  some  of  the  students  with  pathetically 
inadequate  remedies,  exchanging  the  gossip  of  Kufara 
for  that  of  Egypt  with  a  few  west-bound  merchants. 
Then  we  set  out  on  the  last  stage  of  our  journey,  deter- 
mining that  for  once  we  would  travel  slowly  and  peace- 
fully, grazing  the  camels  as  we  went,  riding  a  little  by 
night  for  the  sheer  joy  of  the  stars  and  barraking  to 
make  mint  tea  wherever  a  haita  tempted  us  with  its 
wood  and  shade. 

Fate  must  have  laughed  in  her  sleeve,  but  no  echo 
of  her  mirth  reached  us  as  we  loaded  our  four  camels 
inside  the  zawia  walls  or  paused  beyond  the  first  gherd 
while  Sidi  Hussein  said  the  "Fatha."  I  only  realised 
that  this  was  the  last  Arabic  blessing  that  would  attend 
my  journey  and  suddenly  I  felt  heartsick  for  the  land 
I  was  leaving.  The  white,  clustered  walls,  the  white 
qubba  behind,  stood  for  the  effort  we  had  made,  the 
object  we  had  struggled  for,  far  more  than  Kufara 
itself  had  ever  done.  Mohammed  was  really  broken 
down  by  the  journey  and  unable  to  come  on  with  us, 
so,  with  this  little  land  of  hope  and  fear,  success  and 
failure,  with  these  winter  months  of  high-pitched  excite- 


300   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

ment  and  tense  endurance,  we  were  losing  a  friend!  An 
odd  pain  possessed  me  as  we  finally  parted  in  fine, 
whirling  sand  and  a  wind  which  blew  his  jerd  wildly 
about  his  face  and  when  Yusuf  said  complacently, 
"The  Sitt  Khadija  is  happy.  She  will  be  in  her  own 
country  soon,"  I  knew  the  desert  had  won  after  all. 
Those  who  are  initiated  into  her  secrets  are  for  ever 
held  in  her  thrall.  I  think  my  voice  was  rather  wobbly 
as  I  answered,  "No,  no,  I  am  sad  because  I  am  leaving 
the  Senussi  country  behind!"  So  quick  is  Arab 
sympathy,  so  responsive  is  their  instinct,  that  Yusuf's 
face  reflected  my  woful  expression.  "My  heart  was 
touched,"  he  confided  to  Amar.  "I  would  have  wept 
with  the  Sitt  Khadija  because  she  Las  many  feelings." 

There  was  a  strong  north-west  wind  that  day,  but 
it  was  behind  us,  so  we  rode  slowly  and  placidly  through 
the  distorted  country  of  sand  and  shale  that  lies  east 
of  Jaghabub.  I  do  not  know  whether  sportive  giants 
dig  for  treasure  or  young  gods  build  play  castles  and 
entrenchments  in  that  desolate  land,  but  on  every  side 
rise  fantastic  shapes  of  wind-blown  sand.  Reddish  layers 
drip  over  polished  white  bases  that  look  like  chalk. 
Ridge  after  ridge  of  storm-polished  gherds  shut  one 
into  a  maze  of  strange  hillocks  that  give  way  occasionally 
to  welcome  green  of  hatias.  The  retinue  had  shrunk  to 
three,  Yusuf,  Amar  and  a  new  guide,  one  Abu  Bekr 
Manfi,  who  looked  exactly  like  the  wicked  Caliph  in 
Dulac's  illustrations  to  the  Arabian  Nights,  for  he  had 
a  huge  beaked  nose  which,  under  an  immense  loosely 
rolled  turban,  curved  to  meet  his  pointed  beard  and 
nut-cracker  jaw.  His  curious  eyes  were  for  ever  asking 
questions,  but  his  dialect  was  almost  beyond  my 
comprehension. 

We  proceeded  very  slowly  because  all  the  camels 
were  tired  and  the  retinue  had  surreptitiously  added  to 


THE  END  OF  THE  JOURNEY          30T 

their  loads  immense  earthenware  jars  to  fill  with  oil  at 
Siwa,  but  it  did  not  matter,  for  this  was  a  friendly 
desert,  generous  of  her  wood  and  water.  We  halted 
at  El  Amra,  where  the  Mahdi  had  built  two  great 
cisterns  some  fifty  feet  long  with  domed  roofs,  through 
holes  in  which  the  water  drips  into  the  immense  chamber 
below.  Abu  Bekr  made  tea  with  a  swiftness  suggesting 
that  his  Caliph  ancestor  had  bequeathed  to  him  the 
services  of  his  familiar  genii.  Then  we  proceeded  slowly, 
walking  and  riding  alternately  another  12  kilometres  to 
Maktuh,  where  we  turned  the  weary  camels  loose  to 
graze  and  cooked  our  rice  and  "asida"  respectively  under 
a  delightfully  sweet-scented  bush,  while  inquisitive  black- 
birds with  impertinent  white  patches  over  their  bills 
hopped  cheerfully  around  us.  In  red  mist  of  sunset  we 
started  to  reload,  noticing  that  Abu  Bekr  carefully 
joined  his  "Asr,"  "Fagr"  and  "Aisha"  prayers  into 
one  unending  stream  in  order  to  avoid  having  to  do  any 
work. 

A  golden  crescent  lighted  a  white  world  as  we  left 
the  hatia,  labouring  through  the  sabakha  with  great 
dunes  looming  on  our  right.  I  felt  infinitely  at  peace 
in  the  shimmering,  silvery  stillness,  the  silence  only 
broken  by  the  soft  pad-padding  of  the  camels  or  Yusuf 's 
sudden  wailing  chant  in  praise  of  his  beloved  qubba, 
"white  as  the  breast  of  a  virgin."  The  desert  was  in 
her  most  magical  mood  and  I  longed  to  turn  south 
again  and  ride  back  into  her  bourneless  country  by  the 
pale  light  of  Jedi  and  Suhail.  Then  a  strange  murmur- 
ing sound  arose  in  the  dunes.  It  was  as  if  a  great  wind 
bore  the  humming  of  a  myriad  monstrous  bees.  "The 
jinns  are  awake  to-night!"  said  Yusuf  fearfully. 
"Something  evil  will  befall  us.  They  are  making  a 
great  noise  in  the  sands!"  I  laughed  at  him  and 
wondered  if  it  were  the  throb  of  the  breeze  reverberating 


302    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

in  the  empty  oil  jars  or  if  we  were  so  near  civilisation 
that  an  aeroplane  had  become  a  possibility.  Then  I 
remembered  the  desert  drums  of  the  French  Sahara,  for 
which  no  human  fingers  are  responsible,  and  I  wondered 
if,  when  one  is  very  near  akin  to  the  Spirit  of  the  Earth, 
one  can  hear  the  beat  of  her  pulse. 

I  turned  on  my  big  blond  beast  to  ask  Hassanein 
what  he  thought  of  the  strange  throbbing  and  instead 
of  a  crouched  figure  swaying  monotonously  on  the  grey 
Tebu,  I  saw  a  heap  pick  itself  briskly  from  a  patch  of 
stones.  "I  think  I  have  broken  my  collar-bone!" 
said  a  calm,  laughing  voice.  "You  wouldn't  say  it 
quite  so  happily  if  you  had!"  I  grunted,  with  memories 
of  hunting  falls.  "Perhaps  not,"  replied  my  companion, 
clambering  back  on  to  his  camel.  "All  the  same, 
there's  a  most  enormous  lump.  I  believe  I  have." 
And,  though  the  voice  still  laughed,  I  grasped  suddenly 
that  it  spoke  disastrous  truth!  Camels  were  roughly 
barraked.  Yusuf,  for  once  bereft  of  speech,  stumbled 
round,  mutely  offering  most  of  his  clothing  as  bandages. 
Abu  Bekr,  practical  and  brutal,  wished  to  massage  the 
lump  as  a  sprain.  I  blessed  for  once  the  cumbersome 
length  of  the  red  hezaam.  Bandages  and  sling  it  made 
at  the  same  time  and  left  an  end  over  to  fix  a  cushion 
under  the  armpit. 

All  the  time  Hassanein  was  cheerfully  explaining 
that  the  Tebu  had  thoughtlessly  stumbled  just  as  he  was 
practising  gymnastics,  in  order  to  extract  a  blanket  from 
some  mysterious  recess  among  the  baggage  sacks,  but 
we  gave  him  short  time  for  talk.  We  hustled  him  into 
a  roughly  made  "basoor"  and  a  pitiful  little  procession 
started  off  again,  for  suddenly  the  silver  night  had 
become  desperately  lonely,  the  drumming  of  the  jinns 
sinister  and  the  trail  to  Siwa,  with  half -exhausted  camels 
and  none  too  willing  men,  a  thing  of  intolerable  length. 


THE  END  OF  THE  JOURNEY          303 

Thereafter  our  journey  was  just  the  chronicle  of  a 
very  gallant  feat  of  endurance.  The  golden  sickle  died 
behind  us,  but  we  plodded  on.  No  longer  were  the 
85  kilometres  in  front  of  us  a  friendly  desert  to  be 
traversed  slowly  and  comfortably.  At  all  costs  we  must 
reach  Siwa  and  a  doctor  before  the  fractured  bone  broke 
the  skin  and  set  up  mortification.  The  greatest  difficulty 
was  the  retinue,  who  could  not  believe  that  the  "Ahmed 
Bey"  who  laughed  at  them  and  urged  them  to  sing 
could  really  have  a  broken  bone.  "It  is  a  little 
sprain,"  said  Yusuf  hopefully.  "We  will  make  a  fire 
and  massage  it  with  oil  of  jasmine  and  it  will  be  cured." 
But  I  drove  them  on  unrelenting  till  the  rough  ground 
west  of  Kusebeya  made  the  camels  stumble  hopelessly 
in  the  darkness.  I  hated  Abu  Bekr  when  he  calmly 
lit  himself  a  fire  and,  warming  his  feet  at  the  blaze, 
started  chanting  the  Koran  in  a  loud,  exasperating  voice. 

We  could  not  get  the  unfortunate  Hassanein  into  a 
flea-bag  and  no  position  we  could  devise  could  give  rest 
to  his  shoulder,  already  jarred  by  the  unending  bumps 
and  jerks  of  a  camel's  pace.  All  we  could  do  was  to 
pile  our  cushions  and  blankets  under  him  and  cover  him 
with  the  sleeping-sacks.  Yusuf  toiled  nobly  and,  in  the 
cold  night  which  followed,  during  which  Abu  Bekr  was 
the  only  one  who  slept,  I  heard  him  come  shuffling 
several  times  to  see  if  he  could  help. 

Never  was  a  dawn  more  welcome,  but  as  we  helped 
my  infinitely  plucky  companion  on  to  a  camel,  waiting 
for  no  breakfast  except  coffee,  made  overnight  in  a 
thermos  flask,  I  wondered  whether  human  endurance 
could  last  out  another  forty-eight  hours  like  this.  The 
shoulder  was  already  inflamed  and  the  ground  terribly 
rough,  so  that  every  few  minutes  the  rider  was  jerked  and 
jolted  painfully.  We  passed  the  blue  salt  lake  of  Kuse- 
beya, a  strip  of  colour  on  our  left,  and  clambered  down 


304   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

into  the  hatia,  where  the  camels  had  to  be  turned  loose  to 
graze.  We  found  a  palm  clump  and  cooked  rice  in 
the  shade  and  Hassanein's  smile  grew  a  little  more 
twisted,  in  spite  of  my  best  efforts  with  bandages  and 
sling. 

I  would  hardly  allow  the  retinue  to  finish  their  noisy 
gulps  of  tea.  "What  does  it  matter  if  you  are  tired?'* 
I  flung  at  them.  "That  bone  has  got  to  be  set  to- 
morrow night!"  "Three  and  a  half  days  from 
Jaghabub  to  Siwa,"  said  Yusuf  mournfully.  "We 
would  walk  with  you  all  night,  but  the  camels  will  not 
go."  "They  have  got  to  go,"  said  I  sternly,  but  I  knew 
that  our  animals  were  very  nearly  exhausted.  They 
had  come  more  than  a  thousand  miles,  with  periods  of 
overloading  and  insufficient  food.  For  nearly  three 
months  they  had  had  no  rest  but  the  eight  days  at 
Kufara,  and  we  had  always  hoped  to  leave  them  at 
Jaghabub  to  recuperate.  Unluckily,  there  was  not  a 
single  beast  of  burden  in  the  zawia  to  take  us  on,  so 
we  had  to  pick  out  the  four  least  weary  camels  and 
trust  once  more  to  luck. 

That  afternoon  was  one  of  the  longest  I  have  ever 
spent.  When  I  saw  Hassanein  put  away  his  compass  I 
knew  that  things  must  be  pretty  bad  and  the  fantastic 
hills  were  a  tortuous  maze  through  which  we  wandered 
eternally!  Yusuf  pointed  out  the  "Grid,"  a  group  of 
three  gherds  which  might  serve  to  support  the  cooking- 
pots  of  the  largest  giants.  "We  shall  camp  at  Zaizeb," 
he  said  and  I  prayed  that  it  might  be  near.  "Allah 
•done  knows  how  far  it  is  to  that  hatia,"  said  Abu  Bekr 
placidly  as  we  mounted,  it  seemed  to  me  for  the 
millionth  time,  a  little  rise  and  saw  nothing  below  but 
reddish  sand  over  hard,  white  blocks,  in  monstrous  forms 
that  suggested  beasts  and  edibles  to  the  fanciful  Amar. 
Hassanein  was  the  last  of  us  to  fall  into  silence. 


THE  END  OF  THE  JOURNEY          305 

The  sun  set  without  showing  any  signs  of  the 
promised  hatia.  The  camels  were  obviously  incapable 
of  going  much  farther.  Yusuf  said  pathetically,  "I 
have  walked  seventeen  days  from  Kufara  on  these  legs 
and  now  they  are  very  tired."  But  Hassanein  said 
nothing.  Only  when  I  climbed  a  huge  mound  of  stones 
beside  the  track  and  saw  the  hope  in  his  face  as  I 
looked  across  a  great  expanse  of  broken  country  I  could 
not  resist  the  impulse.  "I  see  the  hatia,"  I  lied.  "It 
is  quite  near."  Darkness  came  as  we  jolted  down  into 
the  wadi  and  every  rolling  stone,  every  sudden  drop 
made  me  realise  that  two  more  days  of  this  would  be 
impossible.  The  swift  appearance  of  the  hatia  almost 
justified  my  impulsive  speech,  but  it  was  very  dark  as 
we  barraked  behind  a  convenient  mound.  I  insisted 
that  food  should  be  eaten  quickly  and  that  we  should 
then  walk  till  the  moon  went  down.  The  retinue 
expostulated  violently.  "You  must  leave  some  of  the 
loads,"  said  Yusuf;  and  Abu  Bekr  so  firmly  ensconced 
himself  in  his  blankets  that  I  thought  a  concerted 
mutiny  was  probable.  However,  after  a  forlorn  meal, 
for  even  my  companion's  unfaltering  courage  could  not 
hide  his  pain,  I  literally  pushed  the  retinue  on  to  their 
feet  and,  by  dint  of  doing  half  the  loading  myself, 
forced  them  to  prepare  for  another  march. 

Hassanein  dragged  himself  mutely  on  to  the  grey 
Tebu,  still  far  the  strongest  of  the  hamla,  but  when  I 
saw  the  party  crawl  away  from  our  camping  ground  I 
knew  that  I  could  not  force  the  pace  any  longer.  On 
the  morrow  I  would  put  up  the  tent  and  leave  my  com- 
panion there  with  Yusuf  and  Amar.  I  would  take  the 
Kufara  camel  and  Abu  Bekr  who,  for  love  of  heavy 
mejidies,  would  guide  me  in  one  long  march  to  Siwa, 
from  where  I  could  bring  back  help.  "This  is  the  end," 
I  said  to  Yusuf.  "Pull  up  your  energy!"  And  then, 


306   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

Hamdulillah,  a  dog  ran  out  barking  and  figures  loomed 
in  the  shadows.  "Friend,"  came  the  answer  to  Amar's 
challenge.  "No  friend  walks  thus  at  night,"  said  Yusuf 
decidedly  and  to  me,  "Get  ready  your  revolvers!" 
But  I  had  heard  an  English  voice  I  Rushing  forward, 
unheeding  of  ungirdled  barracan,  of  Moslem  custom,  of 
anything  in  the  world  but  that  the  hands  of  my  own 
countrymen  could  help  as  no  other  hands  in  the  world,  I 
met  a  Camel  Corps  Patrol  which  the  Frontier  Districts 
Administration  had  sent  out  to  look  for  us ! 

I  have  absolutely  no  recollection  of  what  I  said  to 
the  calm-eyed  shadow  in  khaki  who  drew  away  from  the 
dark  figures  in  close-rolled  turbans  and  the  precise, 
double  row  of  neatly  barraked  hejin,  but,  oh!  the 
efficiency  of  England!  I  have  railed  at  her  so  often  and 
with  so  much  justice.  I  have  run  away  from  her  powers- 
that-be  when  I  have  wanted  to  penetrate  to  particularly 
unauthorised  and  impossible  places,  but  that  night  T 
valued  her  as  never  before!  In  so  few  minutes  the 
situation  changed.  Did  I  relinquish  my  command  or 
was  it  unconsciously  taken  from  me  by  Beneficent  Khaki? 
I  do  not  know,  but  the  retinue's  grumbling  sank  to  awed 
silence  at  the  power  which  had  leaped  to  meet  us.  The 
hamla  were  driven  on  to  camp  at  a  given  place  and  the 
swiftest  hejin  went  back  to  Siwa,  untiring  through  the 
night,  to  fetch  a  doctor  and  car  to  Girba,  only  half  a 
day  ahead. 

Fate  had  played  against  the  kindness  of  an  English 
Governor  then  at  Siwa,  for  the  rescue  party  had  camped 
but  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  from  our  distressed  dinner, 
and  she  had  lost,  because  the  wandering  dog  had  heralded 
our  approach.  Otherwise  we  might  have  drifted  on  into 
the  night. 

Almost  before  I  realised  how  life  had  changed  I 
found  myself  on  a  white  trotting  camel  with  a  specially 


THE  END  OF  THE  JOURNEY          307 

immense  sheepskin  testifying  to  very  gracious  fore- 
thought. Beneficent  Khaki  was  beside  me  and,  behind 
me,  a  swiftly  broken  camp,  the  still-glowing  ashes  of  the 
fire  and  then  a  line  of  dark  figures  on  the  slender  hejin 
of  the  Camel  Corps.  It  seemed  so  small  a  thing  now, 
the  distance  that  lay  before  us,  and  even  the  long  trail 
behind  us  was  suddenly  of  no  account,  for  we  talked  of 
world  wars,  of  nations  still  in  the  melting-pot.  How 
eagerly  I  asked  for  news  I  Governments  had  fallen,  a 
new  republic  had  sprung  into  existence,  a  famous  general 
had  vanished  with  a  great  army!  Long  before  I  had 
filled  the  gap  those  desert  months  had  made  in  newspaper 
knowledge,  we  had  overtaken  the  hamla  and  Beneficent 
Khaki  was  looking  out  for  convenient  shelter.  "The  lee- 
side  of  a  gherd,  I  think,"  he  said  firmly.  "That  big 
fellow  over  there  will  do,"  and  he  wheeled  his  tall,  white 
beast  sharply  under  the  hill. 

So  swiftly  the  camp  was  made !  I  felt  ashamed  of  our 
clumsy  loading,  our  lumbering  halts,  when  I  saw  the  ease 
with  which  each  tall  hejin  barraked  in  its  own  place  in 
the  double  line.  "What  a  good  thing  it  is  to  belong  to 
such  a  Government,"  said  Yusuf  enviously.  "What  fine 
camels  and  what  a  good  turn-out!"  There  was  no 
grumbling  at  making  a  zariba  that  night.  A  meek  retinue 
bestirred  themselves  mightily  to  little  effect,  but  Benefi- 
cent Khaki  took  charge.  Marvellously  soon,  it  seemed, 
Hassanein  was  tucked  into  a  wondrous  flea-bag,  complete 
with  sheets,  a  real  pillow  propped  up  his  shoulder,  a 
thoroughly  wind-proof  zariba  shut  out  northern  blasts,  a 
fire  blazed  cheerfully  before  us  and,  as  I  tugged  my  own 
roll  of  bedding  nearer  its  happy  crackling,  a  voice  said 
reproachfully:  "You  mustn't  do  that!  Do  remember 
that  you've  got  lots  of  people  to  do  it  for  you 
now!"  I  smiled,  for  I  had  almost  forgotten  the  ways 
of  England. 


308   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

"Hot  tea,"  said  the  same  voice.  "With  milk." 
And  I  noticed  an  enormous  kettle  on  the  fire.  Mugs 
came  from  a  magic  picnic  basket  filled  with  all  sorts  of 
good  things.  Rugs  and  sheepskins  appeared  from  the 
spare  camels  brought  for  our  riding.  Was  there  anything 
the  Frontier  Districts  Administration  could  not  produce 
at  a  second's  notice?  Then  someone  said  "Sausages" 
and  even  Hassanein  was  enthusiastic.  We  cooked  them 
with  tomato  sauce  on  the  scented  brushwood  fire  and  ate 
them  steaming  hot,  with  white  new  bread  from  the  hos- 
pitable basket  and  then — how  we  talked!  Beneficent 
Khaki  smoked  a  pipe  and  we,  blissfully  indifferent  to 
the  stern  Senussi  laws  which  had  forbidden  us  tobacco 
for  so  many  weeks,  saw  visions  and  dreamed  dreams  in 
the  blue  haze  of  our  first  cigarettes. 

It  must  have  been  nearly  2  A.M.  when  we  finally 
buried  ourselves  in  our  flea-bags,  but  no  one  slept — 
Hassanein  because  of  his  broken  bone,  Beneficent  Khaki 
because  he  had  been  too  recklessly  generous  in  the  dis- 
posal of  his  own  blankets  and  I  because  the  Great 
Adventure  was  ended! 

I  lay  on  my  back  and  looked  at  the  stars,  weighing 
the  balance  of  success  and  failure  and,  suddenly,  I  felt 
that  this  was  not  really  the  end.  Some  time,  somehow, 
I  knew  not  where  or  when,  but  most  assuredly  when 
Allah  willed,  I  should  come  back  to  the  deserts  and  the 
strange,  uncharted  tracks  would  bear  my  camels  south 
again. 

For  those  who  like  to  know  the  end  of  every  story  be 
it  said  that  the  efficiency  which  had  taken  possession  of 
us  did  not  relinquish  its  grasp  until  it  had  deposited  us, 
bewildered  and  hopelessly  out  of  place,  in  the  hotel  at 
Alexandria,  after  a  430-mile  motor  drive  from  Siwa.  It 
was  complete  to  the  last  detail. 

Hot  tea  steamed  beside  our  flea-bags  before  the  dawn 


309 

brought  us  out  of  them.  At  a  pace  which  would  have 
made  light  of  the  long  trail  to  Zakar  we  trotted  on  to 
the  hatia  at  Girba,  where,  under  the  largest  palm,  waited 
a  doctor  complete  with  aluminium  fittings.  The  cars 
arrived  exactly  at  the  correct  moment.  The  road  to  Siwa 
was  unexpectedly  smooth  and  oh!  how  hot  and  plentiful 
was  the  bath  water  at  the  rest  house! 

There  I  discarded  my  worn  barracan  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  yet,  as  I  wandered  through  the  honeycomb  of  old 
Siwa,  with  its  close-piled  houses  one  upon  another  and 
its  labyrinth  of  dark  tunnels  that  serve  as  streets,  I  was 
ashamed  before  the  gaze  of  Arabs.  It  seemed  to  me 
intolerable  that  a  Moslem  should  see  my  face  unveiled. 
Instinctively  I  pulled  at  my  hat  brim  and  my  flying  cloak, 
for,  curiously,  the  soul  of  this  people  had  become  mine 
and  I  resented  the  lack  of  privacy  till  I  remembered  that 
the  Sitt  Khadija  was  no  more! 

Once  again  we  spent  a  night  in  the  desert,  but  this 
time  in  the  shelter  of  a  tarpaulin  hung  between  two 
F.D.A.  cars,  which  were  to  take  us  to  Matruh,  and  it 
was  a  tame  desert  with  friendly  caravans  passing  and 
newly  sunk  cisterns  to  prove  the  enterprise  of  its 
Governor.  Yet  the  silvery  moon  was  the  same  that  turned 
the  Hawari  sands  to  molten  amber,  scarred  with  the 
sapphire  of  her  palms,  and  I  crept  beyond  the  shelter  and 
the  comfort  to  watch  the  setting  of  the  star  that  Moham- 
med had  always  wanted  to  "put  out!" 

"Warm  congratulations  on  your  success,"  said 
generous-hearted  officialdom  at  Siwa  and  Matruh  ana" 
the  more  than  kindly  welcome  was  our  best  reward. 

"So  you  have  been  to  Kufara,"  said  a  civilian  on  the 
coast.  "It  is  an  island,  isn't  it,  but  I  always  thought 
it  was  spelt  Korfu!" 

Then  I  met  a  pretty  Englishwoman.  The  stripe  in 
her  skirt  matched  her  French  sweater  and  faint  scent 


310    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

of  "Mille  Fleurs"  drifted  from  her  rose-petal  skin.  My 
nails  were  broken,  my  nose  blistered.  My  only  European 
dress  had  been  hidden  for  months  at  the  bottom  of  a 
sack  of  bully  beef  tins,  yet  was  I  sincere  when  I  echoed 
Hassanein's  vicious  "Civilisation,  Hamdulillah!"  as  he 
stuffed  his  kufiya  into  a  corner  of  his  knapsack  and  pulled 
out  a  fez! 


DABA-A,  February  19,  1921. 


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NOTES  TO  ROUTE  HISTORY 

NOTE  A. — The  three  little  hillocks  of  sand,  Kelb  el  Metemma, 
Hameimat  and  el  Mazul,  should  not  be  taken  as  definite  land- 
marks, as  there  is  much  discussion  among  the  Beduin  as  to  their 
exact  identity  and  situation. 

NOTE  B. — The  Oasis  of  Jedabia  is  inhabited  by  the  Mogharba 
tribe,  with  a  few  Zouias,  that  of  Aujela  by  the  Aujela  tribe,  that  of 
Jalo  by  the  Mojabra,  and  those  of  Taiserbo,  Buseima,  Ribiana  and 
Kufara  by  the  Zouia  with  a  sprinkling  of  Tebu.  At  Zuetina  are 
the  Fawakher,  and  at  Solluk  and  Ghemines  the  Auwaghir. 

It  is  estimated  that  the  population  of  Kufara  and  Buseima  is 
about  3,000  Zouias  and  100  to  150  Tebu.  In  addition  to  these 
there  are  large  numbers  of  negroid  slaves  from  Wadai  and  Darfur. 
In  Jaghabub  there  is  no  tribe.  It  is  a  religious  centre  of  the 
Senussi  ekhwan. 

NOTE  C. — The  mileage  recorded  is  the  actual  distance 
marched.  Occasionally  in  dune  country  it  was  necessary  to  make 
a  small  detour  which  would  reduce  the  distance  traversed  in  a 
straight  line  on  the  map. 

NOTE  D. — Our  failure  to  reach  Taiserbo  on  the  southern 
journey  was  partly  due  to  the  fact  that  we  failed  to  allow  for  the 
variation  between  the  Magnetic  North  and  the  True  North,  while 
we  probably  over-estimated  the  distance  marched.  At  the  same 
time,  as  may  be  seen  by  comparing  the  map  published  in  this  book 
and  the  2  million  Egyptian  Survey  printed  1912  and  reprinted 
1915,  we  walked  through  the  green  cultivated  area  and  passed 
Kusebeya  as  charted  in  the  latter,  without  finding  any  signs  of 
Taiserbo.  Our  compass  traverse  showed  an  error  of  20  miles  in 
the  final  closure  on  Jaghabub.  The  total  distance  travelled,  ex- 
clusive of  the  ride  round  Kufara  Wadi,  was  1,009  miles,  so  the 
error  of  2  per  cent,  was  distributed  throughout  the  whole  journey. 


322 


APPENDIX  B 

NOTES  ON  THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  SENUSSI 
CONFRATERNITY 

SIDI  MOHAMMED  BEN  ALI  ES  SENUSSI  was  born  near  Mastaghanem 
in  Algeria  in  1787.  He  was  of  the  Ulad  Sidi  Yusuf,  Berbers,  yet 
descendants  of  the  prophet  through  Idris,  founder  of  the  Moroc- 
can dynasty.  It  is  generally  supposed  that  the  grandfather  of 
Ben  Ali  derived  his  name  from  a  holy  man  who  died  in  1490 — Sidi 
Mohammed  ben  Yusuf  ben  Amr  ben  Shat  es  Senussi  of  the  Beni 
Snus — but  it  has  also  been  stated  that  it  referred  merely  to  the 
Gebel  Snus  where  his  family  lived.  Mohammed  Ben  Ali,  having 
quarrelled  seriously  with  a  cousin,  went  to  Fez  in  1821  and  studied 
at  the  famous  Karuim  University.  Morocco  in  those  days  was  the 
birthplace  of  many  religious  confraternities  and,  during  the  seven 
or  eight  years  he  spent  there,  Ben  Ali  joined  those  of  el  Gadria, 
esh  Shadelia,  ej  Yazula,  en  Nasria  and  ed  Dergania,  while  at  the 
same  time  he  seems  to  have  won  some  renown  as  an  ascetic  who 
wished  to  amalgamate  every  Moslem  sect  on  a  basis  of  a  pure  and 
simple  Islam  in  strict  conformity  with  the  teachings  of  the  Koran, 
but  shorn  of  every  modern  digression  and  addition. 

Mulai  Suleiman,  Emperor  of  Morocco,  offered  him  preferment, 
but  he  refused  it  and,  returning  to  Algeria  in  1829,  he  taught 
grammar  and  jurisprudence  at  Laquat.  At  Mesad  he  married  a 
woman  of  the  Beni  Tuaba,  a  gift  from  the  faithful,  which  would 
prove  that  already  he  had  gathered  a  certain  number  of  disciples. 
He  left  Algeria  on  the  eve  of  the  French  occupation  and,  undoubt- 
edly, his  fanaticism  was  strengthened  by  the  sight  of  his  native 
land  in  the  hands  of  unbelievers,  for,  though  technically  Turks  and 
Christians  were  equally  condemned  by  his  teaching,  he  reserved  his 
fiercest  hatred  for  the  latter. 

Having  divorced  his  wife  at  Bu  Saada,  he  wandered  along 
North  Africa  preaching  his  mystic  doctrine  of  a  purer  Islam  till 
he  reached  Cairo,  where  he  proposed  to  continue  his  studies  at  the 
El  Azhar  University.  Here,  however,  his  asceticism,  intolerance 
and  hatred  of  innovation  made  him  many  enemies  among  the 

323 


324,   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

Ulema  and,  in  1831,  his  teachings  were  solemnly  condemned  by  the 
Sheikh  el  Hamish,  a  noted  Alim. 

He  therefore  went  on  to  Mecca  where  he  became  the  pupil  of  a 
famous  theologian,  Sidi  Ahmed  ibn  Idris  el  Fasi,  head  of  the  con- 
fraternity of  El  Khadria,  of  much  influence  in  Morocco.  Here  at 
last  Sidi  Ben  Ali  found  a  mind  akin  to  his  own.  Master  and  pupil 
travelled  together  to  the  Yemen,  during  which  missionary  journey 
the  former  died,  having  left  instructions  to  his  followers  to  trans- 
fer their  allegiance  to  his  favourite  pupil,  who  thus  found  himself 
the  head  of  a  definite  group  of  fervent  ascetics — the  Tarika  el  Mo- 
hammedia.  His  teachings  met  with  their  greatest  success  among 
the  Beduin  tribes  of  the  Hejaz  and  the  Yemen,  for  many  of  the 
Meccan  townsmen  preferred  to  follow  another  pupil  of  Idris,  one 
Mohammed  ibn  Osman  el  Mirgani,  Sherif.  Sidi  Ben  Ali,  therefore, 
having  founded  his  first  zawia  at  Jebel  Abu  Cobais  made  a  second 
journey  to  the  Yemen  where  he  came  in  touch  with  the  Wahabis,  a 
puritanical  confraternity  founded  in  1746.  At  all  times  his  hatred 
of  Christian  and  Turks  alike,  his  opposition  to  the  modern  spirit 
of  compromise,  appealed  more  to  the  nomad  tribesmen  than  to  the 
settled  inhabitants  of  the  towns. 

Therefore,  when  the  opposition  of  the  older  sheikhs,  who  ex- 
pressed doubt  as  to  his  orthodoxy,  forced  him  to  leave  Mecca  in 
1838,  he  definitely  formulated  his  policy  of  keeping  away  from 
centres  of  civilisation,  and  thus  avoiding  contact  with  those  coun- 
tries which  were  under  European  rule  or  protection,  while  uniting 
the  various  Beduin  tribes  in  an  immense  religious  organisation 
which  should  eventually  include  the  negroid  races  of  the  south 
and  stretch  in  an  unbroken  line  from  the  Hejaz  to  the  Tua^  Oases. 

Passing  through  Cairo,  he  went  to  Siwa,  where  he  was  ill  with 
fever  for  eight  months,  to  Jalo,  and  to  Skekherra  where  he  first 
came  in  touch  with  the  Zouias,  who  were  destined  to  play  such  a 
large  part  in  his  scheme  for  the  regeneration  and  the  unity  of 
Islam,  for  this  warrior  tribe  was  feared  throughout  the  Northern 
Deserts,  and,  having  conquered  the  Tebu  in  the  oases  of  Taiserbo 
and  Kuf ara,  they  were  a  possible  link  with  Darfur  and  Wadai. 

In  1844  the  first  African  zawia  was  founded  at  El  Beda  in  the 
Gebel  Akhdar,  where  Ben  Ali's  eldest  son  was  born  the  following 
year,  and  from  it  the  ekhwan  (brothers  of  the  Order)  went 
throughout  Cyrenaica  and  Tripoli,  the  Fezzan  and  even  as  far 
south  as  Tibesti,  founding  zawias  and  preaching  the  doctrine  of 
their  leader. 


APPENDICES  325 

The  Senussi  are  sometimes  wrongly  spoken  of  as  a  sect,  but  at 
no  time  have  they  been  other  than  an  ascetic  confraternity,  op- 
posed to  all  forms  of  luxury  or  of  ceremonial,  intolerant  of  any 
intercourse  with  Jew,  Christian  or  infidel.  Since  spiritual  and 
temporal  power  in  Islam  are  inevitably  synonymous,  Sidi  Ben  Ah", 
towards  the  end  of  his  life,  was  looked  upon  as  the  actual  ruler  of 
the  Cyrenaican  hinterland,  but  his  aim  probably  did  not  go  fur- 
ther than  a  Moslem  Freemasonry,  primarily  religious  but  depend- 
ing for  its  wealth  and  political  power  on  the  mercantile  organisa- 
tion of  the  ancient  Saharan  trade-routes  by  which  the  commerce 
of  the  Sudan  came  north  to  the  Mediterranean  ports.  Thus  his 
zawias  were  always  built  at  strategic  points  where  passing  cara- 
vans must  stop  at  the  wells.  While  camels  were  watered,  the 
merchants  were  entertained  by  the  Senussi  sheikh,  who  was  thus 
afforded  the  best  possible  opportunity  for  propaganda.  The 
zawias,  which  were  colleges  and  marts  at  the  same  time,  gave  three 
days*  hospitality  free  to  any  traveller  and,  gradually,  as  the  fame 
of  the  Senussi  spread  among  the  tribes,  ekhwan  were  appointed  to 
accompany  the  more  important  caravans  to  prevent  attacks  from 
Beduins.  Thus  the  doctrine  of  Sidi  Ben  Ali  was  eventually  car- 
ried to  Kanem  and  Borku,  to  the  Comalis  and  Senegambia  with- 
out the  existence  of  any  written  dogma.  There  is,  in  fact,  no  spe- 
cial Senussi  ritual,  nor  have  I  heard  any  unusual  prayer  or  rite 
used  in  their  mosques.  The  use  of  gold  or  jewels  or  any  form  of 
luxury  was  forbidden,  as  were  tobacco  and  alcoholic  stimulants. 

The  fundamental  ideas  of  the  brotherhood  were  equality,  sim- 
plicity, and  complete  detachment  from  all  outside  influence.  The 
sheikhs  of  the  zawias  had  considerable  temporal  power  because 
Sidi  Ben  Ali's  appeal  was  primarily  to  the  Beduin,  who  were  en- 
couraged to  bring  their  disputes  to  be  settled  at  the  nearest  zawia, 
but  they  were  also  responsible  for  education  and  to  this  day  a 
diploma  of  learning  from  Jaghabub  or  Kuf ara  is  highly  valued  in 
the  Moslem  world. 

In  1852  Sidi  Ben  Ali  returned  to  Mecca  where  he  was  able  to 
disseminate  his  doctrine  among  pilgrims  from  all  parts  of  the 
world  and  where  he  met  Agil  the  Zouia. 

n 

Having  founded  six  zawias  in  the  Hejaz  and  Jedda,  he  re- 
turned via  Egypt  and  Akaba  to  Ezziat,  where  he  remained  till 


326   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

1855;  thence  he  sent  ekhwan  to  build  the  zawia  at  Jaghabub. 
Doubtless  this  was  a  precautionary  measure  in  accordance  with 
his  habitual  policy  of  avoiding  any  open  conflict  with  existing  gov- 
ernments, for  Turkey  was  growing  nervous  with  regard  to  the 
Senussi  power  in  North  Africa.  At  first  she  had  supported  the 
order,  according  it  important  privileges  such  as  grants  of  land 
and  exemption  of  the  zawias  from  taxation.  Sidi  Ben  Ali,  how- 
ever, was  not  to  be  won  over  from  his  condemnation  of  Turkish 
unorthodoxy  and  in  1852  he  had  excommunicated  the  Sultan.  It 
was  therefore  obviously  necessary  for  him  to  remove  his  headquar- 
ters from  the  territory  nominally  under  Ottoman  jurisdiction. 
He  went  to  Jaghabub  in  1856  and,  according  to  Duveyrier,  he 
made  the  small  and  uninteresting  oasis  into  an  important  centre 
of  political  and  mercantile  activity.  A  deputation  of  Zouias  head- 
ed by  Abdel  Kerim  Helayig,  Jaballa  and  Agil  visited  him  there 
offering  the  allegiance  of  the  tribe.  Sidi  Ben  Ali  must  have  real- 
ised the  strategical  importance  of  Kufara  as  a  base  of  propa- 
ganda from  the  Sudan  to  Lake  Chad,  for  he  instantly  despatched 
four  ekhwan  to  disseminate  his  doctrines  throughout  the  four 
oases.  The  letter  written  at  this  time  to  Wajanga,  of  which  the 
interpretation  is  given  in  Appendix  D,  page  338,  is  typical  of 
his  missionary  methods. 

It  is  probable  that  Sidi  Ben  Ali  contemplated  a  further  with- 
drawal from  the  zone  of  Turkish  activity  for  he  caused  two  zawias 
to  be  built  near  Ghadames,  but  his  death  in  1859  occurred  sudden- 
ly at  Jaghabub. 

His  two  sons  Mohammed  el  Mahdi  and  Mohammed  es  Sherif 
were  aged  16  and  14  respectively,  so  most  of  the  ekhwan  were  in 
favour  of  electing  Sidi  Abed  el  Ali  Ibn  Ahmed  Ibn  Idris  el  Fasi  as 
their  head.  A  decision  was  finally  made  in  favour  of  Mohammed 
el  Mahdi  because  it  was  remembered  that  Sidi  Ben  Ali  had  once 
bidden  his  eldest  son  resume  his  shoes  upon  entering  a  mosque, 
himself  handing  the  boy  the  slippers  he  had  put  off,  which  menial 
act  was  interpreted  to  mean  that  he  had  already  chosen  him  as  his 
successor. 

An  ancient  prophecy  foretold  that  the  Mahdi  who  would  re- 
conquer the  world  for  Islam  would  attain  his  majority  on  the  first 
day  of  Moharram  in  1300  Hegire,  having  been  born  of  parents 
named  Mohammed  and  Fatma,  and  having  spent  several  years  in 
seclusion. 

On  November  12,  1882,  after  a  minority  spent  in  the  charge 


APPENDICES  327 

of  Sidi  Omran  and  Sidi  Ahmed  er  Rifi,  who  afterwards  remained 
his  most  valued  counsellor,  the  son  of  Sidi  Ben  AH  fulfilled  all 
these  conditions. 

At  this  time  there  were  38  zawias  in  Cyrenaica  and  Syrte  and 
18  in  Tripolitania.  Others  were  sown  broadcast  through  Algeria, 
Tunis  and  Fezzan,  but  in  Morocco  there  were  only  five,  probably 
due  to  the  opposition  of  another  great  religious  order,  the  Moulai 
Tayyeb.  By  way  of  the  Western  Sahara  and  Timbuctoo,  where 
they  built  a  zawia,  the  Senussi  ekhwan  had  penetrated  to  Senegal 
where  they  must  have  found  fertile  soil  for  their  doctrine,  as  in 
1879  Senegalise  pilgrims  travelled  4,500  kilometres  across  Africa 
to  visit  the  Mahdi  at  Jaghabub  and  returned  to  their  own  coun- 
try without  troubling  to  continue  the  journey  to  Mecca.  From 
Air  to  Gonda,  from  Lake  Chad  to  Wajanga,  as  well  as  among 
the  three  millions  in  Wadai,  it  may  be  supposed  that  the  Senussi 
influence  was  preponderant. 

The  Sultan  of  Wadai  had  been  wont  to  entrust  his  north-bound 
caravans  to  the  care  of  his  "brother  and  fellow-ruler,"  Sidi  Ben 
Ali,  and  immense  gifts  of  slaves  and  ivory  cemented  the  friendship 
between  the  two  potentates. 

In  Egypt  the  influence  of  the  confraternity  was  never  very 
strong,  though,  in  1882,  there  were  17  zawias  within  its  borders, 
exclusive  of  the  mother  house  of  Jaghabub.  At  the  same  date 
there  were  zawias  at  Jedda,  Mecca  and  Taif  and  at  least  nine 
others  in  the  Hejaz  and  Yemen.  Duveyrier  estimates  the  number 
of  brothers  of  the  Order  as  anything  between  1,500,000  and  3,- 
000,000  at  the  time  when  the  Mahdi's  minority  was  ended.  Each 
of  these  ekhwan  was  a  more  or  less  active  missionary  agent  and 
each  was  ready,  at  the  bidding  of  his  superiors,  to  turn  himself 
into  a  soldier  to  fight  the  hated  infidel.  Thus  the  power  given 
into  the  hands  of  the  young  Mohammed  el  Mahdi  was  great.  He 
might  have  declared  a  Holy  War  and  had  as  amazing  and  mete- 
oric a  career  as  the  humble  carpenter  of  Abba  Island  in  the  Nile, 
but  he  preferred  to  strengthen  his  position  at  Jaghabub  and  to 
carry  on  his  father's  policy  of  holding  aloof  from  centres  of 
civilisation  and  avoiding  all  open  rupture  with  European  Powers. 
Doubtless  Sidi  Ben  Ali  was  responsible  for  the  stubborn  resist- 
ance of  Laghuat  in  Algeria  in  1852  under  Mohammed  ibn  Abed- 
Allah,  who  had  joined  the  confraternity  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca, 
as  well  as  for  much  of  the  oppositon  to  the  French  occupation  of 
Nigeria  and  Senegambia.  It  is  possible  that  the  Mahdi  had  in 


328   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

view,  if  not  an  empire,  at  least  a  sphere  of  influence  among  the 
negroid  races  between  Wadai  and  Lake  Chad,  for  which  reason 
he  was  prepared  secretly  to  oppose  the  French  penetration  of 
Nigeria,  but,  in  his  withdrawal  to  Kufara  in  1894,  is  seen  his  de- 
termination to  avoid  any  declared  hostility. 

Mohammed  el  Mahdi  was  the  great  figure  of  the  confraternity, 
and  under  his  rule  the  Senussi  attained  the  zenith  of  their  power. 
Since  the  acceptance  of  his  tenets  meant  the  payment  of  tithes, 
the  leader  of  the  confraternity  had  by  this  time  considerable 
wealth  at  his  disposal.  Having  established  a  profitable  trade  in 
slaves  and  arms  between  south  and  north,  he  also  possessed  the 
nucleus  of  a  negroid  army,  yet  the  Mahdi  aimed  at  peaceful  pene- 
tration rather  than  at  military  occupation.  His  zawias  were  neu- 
tral meeting-places  where  difficulties — tribal,  commercial,  legal  or 
religious — could  be  settled  by  an  unbiassed  authority.  His  ekh- 
wan  were  judges  as  well  as  missionaries.  They  defined  tribal  areas, 
settled  water  and  grazing  rights,  as  well  as  meting  out  the  justice 
of  the  Koran  to  those  who  infringed  the  code  of  Islam. 

In  view  of  the  undoubted  influence  and  prestige  of  such  a  con- 
fraternity, it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  wholly  exaggerated 
ideas  of  its  importance  were  brought  to  Europe  by  rare  travellers 
who,  impressed  by  the  dangers  they  had  escaped  from,  overlooked 
the  fact  that  the  Order  must  necessarily  lack  cohesion,  dissemin- 
ated as  it  was  through  countries  differing  in  race,  tongue,  custom 
and  form  of  government  and  hemmed  in  on  every  side  by  gradu- 
ally encroaching  European  Powers. 

During  the  13  years  of  his  rule  at  Jaghabub  the  Mahdi  reso- 
lutely held  aloof  from  the  spirit  of  revolt  which  animated  the 
Moslem  world. 

When  the  Sudanese  Mahdi  sent  a  deputation  to  ask  for  his 
help  in  driving  the  English  from  Egypt  in  1884,  he  replied,  "Tell 
your  master  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  him.  He  must  write  to 
us  no  more  for  his  way  is  wrong.  We  cannot  reply  to  his  letter." 

His  move  to  Kufara  isolated  him  in  an  almost  impregnable 
position  where  he  could  command  the  trade  routes  of  half  a  con- 
tinent. His  chief  counsellors  were  his  old  tutor  Ahmed  er  Rifi, 
his  brother  Mohammed  es  Sherif  and  Mohammed  ibn  Hassan  el 
Baskari.  His  nephew  Mohammed  el  Abed  was  left  as  wakil  at 
Jaghabub. 

Kufara  under  the  rule  of  the  Zouias  had  been  the  most  noted 
centre  of  brigandage  in  the  Sahara.  Sidi  el  Mahdi  substituted  a 


APPENDICES  329 

regular  system  of  Customs  duty  on  all  merchandise  passing 
through. 

He  built  the  towns  of  Jof  and  Taj,  each  with  a  large  zawia, 
and  in  the  course  of  a  few  years  developed  the  oasis  into  an  en- 
tirely self-supporting  centre  of  civilisation  and  the  headquarters 
of  the  confraternity,  visited  by  large  numbers  of  "Brethren"  from 
all  parts  of  Africa. 

Nevertheless  he  had  to  acknowledge  that,  temporarily,  the 
north  offered  no  further  field  of  expansion  for  his  teachings.  Any 
trial  of  strength  with  France,  Turkey  or  Egypt  could  have  but 
one  issue.  Therefore  he  concentrated  his  energies  on  Borku,  Wa- 
dai,  Kanem  and  the  Western  Sudan.  He  sent  his  ekhwan  through- 
out these  districts  with  instructions  to  settle  disputes  between  the 
tribes,  thus  inducing  them  to  acknowledge  Senussi  authority  and 
to  build  zawias  in  such  places  as  would  control  the  wells  and  mar- 
kets. Intending  to  follow  in  thd  wake  of  his  disciples,  he  left 
Kufara  in  August,  1899,  after  receiving  a  deputation  from  Ali 
Dinar  expressing  the  Sultan  of  Darfur's  devotion  to  the  Order. 
After  63  days'  travelling  by  slow  stages,  he  reached  Ghiru,  from 
where  he  directed  the  opposition  to  French  penetration  from  Lake 
Chad. 

This  step  was  notable  because  it  was  in  direct  contravention 
of  the  policy  initiated  by  Sidi  Ben  Ali  and  previously  adhered  to 
by  the  Mahdi. 

At  no  time  a  military  power,  the  Senussi  depended  for  their 
wealth  and  influence  on  the  stability  of  their  mercantile  organisa- 
tion. 

The  French  were  the  first  Europeans  who  seriously  imperilled 
their  profitable  trade  in  slaves  and  arms.  The  former  merchandise 
came  from  Constantinople  and  was  disembarked  at  Tobruk  or 
Benghazi. 

Since  its  principal  markets  were  between  Darfur  and  Kanem 
it  was  essential  that  France  should  not  advance  farther  towards 
Wadai.  Tuareg  rebels,  flying  north  from  French  Nigeria,  came 
in  touch  with  Sidi  el  Barrani  at  Kanem,  were  converted  to  the 
Senussi  tenets,  and  joined  with  Arabs  from  Kufara  in  fortifying 
the  zawia  at  Bir  Allahi. 

The  victory  of  Zugiba  on  August  23,  1901,  relieved  the  French 
from  further  pressure  from  the  south  and  they  were  able  to  es- 
tablish themselves  firmly  at  Massacori.  An  advance  party,  how- 
ever, was  attacked  and  defeated  by  Tuaregs  from  Bir  Allahi  and 


330   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

tliis  zawia  remained  a  centre  of  opposition  until  it  was  taken  in 
January,  1902. 

By  this  open  aggression  Sidi  el  Mahdi  apparently  pledged 
himself  to  a  definite  campaign  against  France,  yet  he  had  no  reg- 
ular army.  His  policy  was  to  unite  the  tribes  against  the  Chris- 
tian, himself  supplying  arms,  ammunition  and  money.  Borku  was 
virtually  under  his  rule.  He  had  a  wazir  in  Wadai  and  zawias  in 
Nigeria  and  the  Cameroons. 

Mohammed  es  Sunni,  one  of  the  most  famous  Senussi  ekhwan, 
who  had  undertaken  many  missionary  journeys  in  the  Sudan  and 
West  Africa,  was  adviser  to  the  Sultan  of  Wadai,  for  whom  he 
had  obtained  the  financial  support  of  the  Tripolitanian  merchants. 

The  sudden  death  of  the  Mahdi,  however,  on  June  1st,  1802, 
removed  the  motive  force  of  the  order.  As  his  sons  were  then 
minors  at  school  at  Jaghabub,  his  nephew  Sayed  Ahmed  es  Sherif 
was  nominated  as  his  successor. 

The  new  Sheikh  es  Senussi  remained  at  Ghiru,  from  where  he 
continued  to  oppose  the  French  advance,  till  a  bad  defeat  in  De- 
cember, 1902,  decided  him  to  retire  to  Kufara. 

For  some  years  he  moved  his  headquarters  between  this  oasis 
and  Jaghabub  so  that  he  was  able  to  keep  in  touch  with  his  north- 
ern zawias  without  relinquishing  the  hold  gained  by  the  Mahdi  on 
the  negroid  races  of  the  south. 

Since  the  Anglo-French  Treaty  of  1904  ceded  the  Zinder-Chad 
route  to  France,  the  advance  of  the  latter  power  has  inevitably 
involved  the  ebb  of  the  Senussi  influence  throughout  the  occupied 
districts. 

The  Ulad  Suleiman  tribes,  who  had  been  among  the  strongest 
adherents  of  the  Mahdi,  submitted  in  1905. 

The  following  year  Bilma  was  occupied  in  spite  of  determined 
attacks  by  Tuaregs  and  Kufara  Arabs. 

In  March,  1907,  the  principal  zawia  in  Borku,  Ain  Malakka, 
was  captured  and  its  sheikh,  Sidi  el  Barrani,  the  virtual  ruler  of 
Borku,  killed. 

In  June,  1909,  Abeshe,  the  capital  of  Wadai,  was  entered. 

Turkish  troops  occupied  Tibesti  in  May,  1910,  and  Borku  in 
September,  1911,  but  were  recalled  at  the  outbreak  of  the  Turco- 
Italian  war  in  1912,  leaving  the  Senussi  free  to  continue  the  prop- 
aganda that  was  finally  put  an  end  to  by  the  French  advance  into 
Tibesti  and  Borku,  in  the  winter  of  1913-1914. 

Meanwhile,  Cyrenaica  and  Tripoli  having  been  acknowledged 


APPENDICES  331 

an  Italian  sphere  of  influence,  Sayed  Ahmed  was  fully  occupied  in 
the  north. 

When  the  Italians  landed  in  Libya  in  1911,  there  existed  a 
kingdom  within  a  kingdom  and  the  Turks  were  only  masters  in 
name.  They  were  almost  as  much  despised  as  the  Christians  by 
the  ascetic  confraternity  of  Sidi  Ben  AH,  who  held  themselves 
entirely  aloof  from  the  Ottoman  Government. 

Therefore  when  Sayed  Ahmed  definitely  allied  himself  with 
Turkey,  he  departed  from  the  fundamental  principle  of  his  Order. 
He  was  persuaded  by  Enver  Pasha  to  allow  the  tribes  to  take  part, 
under  Turkish  leadership,  in  the  long-drawn-out  guerilla  warfare 
which  was  so  successfully  carried  out  that,  in  1914,  Italy  was  left 
in  possession  of  the  coast  towns  of  Tripoli  and  Cyrenaica  only, 
while  the  interior  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Senussi. 

This  material  success  was  counter-balanced,  however,  by  the 
dissolution  of  Senussi  entity.  The  principle  of  religious  detach- 
ment for  which  the  Order  had  originally  stood  had  disappeared 
and  the  confraternity  had  resolved  itself  into  a  political  weapon  in 
the  hands  of  Turkey.  From  this  standpoint  it  was  but  a  short 
step  to  the  declaration  of  war  against  Egypt. 

At  no  period  was  Sayed  Ahmed  really  anti-British,  because  he 
knew  that  Britain  had  no  interests  to  serve  in  Libya.  Moreover, 
she  facilitated  his  trade  with  Egypt,  a  vital  point  for  the  welfare  of 
the  Beduins,  for  the  Cyrenaican  ports  were  already  closed  to  them. 

Mannismann  and  Nouri  Pasha,  respectively  German  and  Turk- 
ish agents,  provided  arms,  ammunition  and  money,  while  holding 
before  the  Senussi  sheikh  the  idea  that  the  Egyptian  Beduins  would 
all  join  him,  and  that  he  would  be  the  ruler  of  Egypt,  yet,  in  spite 
of  Teuton  organisation  and  of  a  widely  preached  Jehad,  it  is 
doubtful  if  the  Senussi  could  ever  have  put  in  the  field  more  than 
4,000  men. 

Sayed  Ahmed  established  his  headquarters  at  Bir  Waer  and 
the  Egyptian  Coastguards,  under  Mohammed  Saleh,  were  per- 
suaded by  religious  fanaticism  to  join  him. 

Jaafer  Pasha,  a  keen  and  capable  soldier,  an  Arab  from  Bagh- 
dad, trained  in  German  methods,  was  in  command  of  the  Senussi 
troops. 

The  Tara  was  sunk  on  November  5,  .1915,  and  her  crew  sent  as 
prisoners  to  the  desert. 

Sollum,  under  the  command  of  Colonel  Snow  Bey,  of  the  Egyp- 
tian Coastguards,  was  evacuated  in  the  same  month,  and  as  the 


332   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

garrison  went  down  the  coast  in  a  cruiser,  they  could  see  Sidi 
Barrani  in  flames. 

British  Headquarters  were  established  at  Mersa  Matruh  and  in 
December  the  outlying  garrisons  were  collected  there. 

Colonel  Snow  Bey,  whose  name  with  that  of  Major  Royle  Bey 
is  famous  throughout  the  Western  Desert,  was  shot  in  a  reconnais- 
sance on  November  11. 

On  Christmas  Eve  the  Senussi  were  defeated  at  Medwa  and  on 
December  29  at  Jerawla,  but  the  first  decisive  battle  was  at 
Halazin,  where  Sayed  Ahmed  had  gathered  his  main  force. 

On  January  23  he  was  attacked  with  complete  success,  and 
forced  to  retreat  precipitately  towards  Sollum,  leaving  700  dead 
on  the  field. 

A  further  victory  on  February  26  at  Agazia  resulted  in  the 
capture  of  Jaafer  Pasha  and  the  flight  of  Sayed  Ahmed,  with  the 
subsequent  opening  of  the  road  to  Sollum,  which  was  occupied  on 
March  14. 

The  following  day  the  Duke  of  Westminster  made  his  famous 
dash  to  Bir  Hakim  on  the  Tobruk-Jaghabub  route,  some  60  miles 
inland,  and  120  from  Sollum,  to  rescue  the  Tara  prisoners. 

Sayed  Ahmed  retired  through  Siwa  to  Dakhla,  while  the  re- 
maining portion  of  his  force  went  to  Baharia.  Kharga  was  imme- 
diately evacuated  by  the  British  and  then,  with  a  successful  army 
occupying  the  post,  a  beaten  enemy  practically  cut  off  from  all 
supplies  in  two  isolated  desert  oases,  a  disaffected  and  half-starved 
Cyrenaica,  heartily  tired  of  its  ruler's  policy  and  already  turning 
to  Mohammed  Idris,  whose  pro-British  attitude  was  obvious  from 
the  beginning,  was  initiated  the  scheme  for  fortifying  Egypt  at  an 
expense  of  some  60  million  sterling  against  a  foe  who  numbered 
perhaps  2,000. 

The  three  armed  camps  of  the  Ulad  Ali  which  lay  behind  the 
British  line  from  Matruh  were  rapidly  disposed  of,  but  the  whole 
summer  of  1916  was  spent  in  fortifying  the  line  of  the  Nile  Valley 
and  in  October  the  Senussi  were  driven  out  of  Dakhla  and  Baharia 
by  Camel  Corps  and  Light  Car  Patrols.  Sayed  Ahmed  retired 
through  Farafra  to  Siwa,  where  he  had  left  Mohammed  Saleh  in 
command. 

In  February,  1917,  after  a  sharp  engagement  at  Girba,  where, 
east  of  Munasib  Pass,  some  20  armoured  cars  sustained  a  24> 
hours*  enfilade  from  800  Senussi  hidden  in  the  rocks  above  them, 
the  latter  were  finally  driven  out  of  Egyptian  Territory. 


APPENDICES  333 

For  18  months  Sayed  Ahmed  spent  a  precarious  existence  in 
the  hinterland  of  Cyrenaica  and,  in  August,  1918,  retired  to  Con- 
stantinople by  submarine. 

Meanwhile,  in  1916,  an  Anglo-British  Mission  under  General 
(then  Colonel)  the  Marchese  di  Vita  and  Colonel  Talbot  had  ap- 
proached Sidi  Mohammed  Idris  es  Senussi  at  Tobruk  and  Zuetina 
with  a  view  to  arranging  a  modus  vivendi  in  Cyrenaica. 

Sayed  Idris  had  taken  no  part  in  his  cousin's  campaign  against 
Egypt.  On  the  contrary,  he  threw  all  his  influence  as  the  son  of 
Mahdi  into  the  opposing  scale. 

As  soon  as  Sayed  Ahmed  decided  to  attack,  the  younger  Sen- 
ussi retired,  with  his  brother  Sayed  Rida,  to  Jedabia,  writing  to 
General  Maxwell  to  say  that  he  did  not  support  his  cousin's  policy. 
He  continued  firmly  in  this  course,  though  when  Sayed  Ahmed  was 
defeated  Mannismann  came  west  with  some  Turks  and  Egyptian 
Coastguards  to  try  and  persuade  him  to  continue  the  war.  Sayed 
Idris  refused,  and  Mannismann  was  killed  on  his  way  to  Tripoli,  a 
journey  he  had  undertaken  in  direct  opposition  to  the  Senussi's 
advice. 

It  was  thus  natural  that  both  Cyrenaica  and  Italy  should  turn 
to  the  eldest  son  of  the  Mahdi  for  help  in  the  work  of  re-organisa- 
tion, necessitated  by  Sayed  Ahmed's  disastrous  policy. 

A  dual  agreement  was  drawn  up  in  1917  between  the  British 
and  Italian  Governments  on  the  one  side  and  Sayed  Mohammed 
Idris,  as  the  head  of  the  confraternity,  on  the  other,  by  which  it 
was  agreed  that : — 

(A)  The  Italian  Government  will  retain  the  coast  towns, 
snd  certain  already  occupied  posts  a  short  distance  inland, 
but  will  create  no  new  posts. 

(B)  Commerce  is  to  be  unrestricted  between  the  interior 
and  Benghazi,  Tobruk  and  Derna. 

(c)  Courts  according  to  Sharia  Law  and  schools  for  the 
education  of  natives  will  be  built  and  maintained  by  the 
Italians  who  will  also  restore  zawias  and  zawia  property  not 
still  required  for  military  purposes  and  be  responsible  for 
the  salaries  of  sheikhs  el  zawia  appointed  by  Sidi  Idris. 

(D)  Material  assistance  will  be  rendered  to  Mohammed 
Idris  by  the  Italian  Government  supplying  him  with  arms, 
ammunition,  equipment  and  food  for  a  limited  number  of  men. 
For  the  moment  4,000  is  the  number  fixed.  These  are  to  be 


334   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

used  partly  against  the  enemy  and  partly  for  the  purpose  of 
maintaining  public  security  in  the  interior  of  Cyrenaica. 

(E)  Personal    allowances    to    certain    members    of    the 
Senussi  family  are  to  be  paid  monthly. 

(F)  In  return  for  this,  Mohammed  Idris  will  make  him- 
self responsible  for  the  maintenance  of  peace  in  the  interior, 
but  will  form  no  new  posts,  will  gradually  disarm  the  popula- 
tion, will  place  no  obstacles  in  the  way  of  the  Italian  Govern- 
ment for  the  forcible  disarmament  of  hostile  groups,  will  allow 
Italian  delegates  to  enter  the  interior  for  the  settlement  of 
affairs  with  his  local  representative  while  the  Italian  Govern- 
ment may   at   any   time  send   a   representative  to   discuss 
matters  with  him  in  person. 

Since  then  an  excellent  understanding  has  been  arrived  at, 
chiefly  owing  to  the  personal  influence  of  H.  E.  The  Governor  of 
Cyrenaica,  Senator  de  Martino  and  Sayed  Mohammed  Idris  under 
which  Cyrenaica  bids  fair  to  have  a  pr6sperous  commercial  and 
agricultural  future. 

By  the  accord  of  Regima  in  November,  1920,  Italy  and  the 
Senussi  ratified  the  Italo-British  Agreement  before  quoted. 

Sayed  Idris  was  given  the  hereditary  title  of  Emir  with  juris- 
diction as  "an  independent  ruler  on  behalf  of  Italy"  over  the  oases 
of  Kufara,  Jaghabub,  Jalo,  Aujela  and  Jedabia.  He  is  to  disband 
his  "karakols"  and  armed  camps  in  Cyrenaica,  and  the  Italians  are 
to  find  employment  for  the  men  thus  left  without  work  in  a  regular 
police  force.  The  terms  of  the  new  Constitution  granted  to 
Cyrenaica  provide  that  five  members,  out  of  the  44  constituting  the 
Legislative  Assembly,  shall  be  elected  from  the  oases  of  the  in- 
terior. It  is  expected  that  a  port  will  be  built  at  Zuetina  and  that 
the  trans-Saharan  trade  from  Wadai  and  Darfur  will  pass 
through  Kufara,  Jalo,  and  Jedabia  on  its  way  to  this  Mediter- 
ranean outlet. 

At  the  present  moment  Sayed  Idris  rules  by  means  of  kaima- 
kaans  at  Kufara,  Jalo,  Jaghabub,  Jedabia,  el  Abiar,  Takness, 
Merawa  and  Kholaf.  Under  each  kaimakaan  is  a  Qadi  (judge), 
and  a  MdMcama  Sharia  (Religious  Court)  consisting  of  two  clerks, 
a  Mudir  Amual  (Head  of  the  Financial  Department),  a 
Treasurer  and  Clerk,  and  a  Mamur  Tahsil  (Head  Tax-collector). 

The  justice  is  that  of  the  Koran  and  "Onshur" — a  tenth  part 
— is  paid  yearly  on  palms  and  live-stock.  Five  per  cent.  Customs 


APPENDICES  335 

dues  is  levied  on  all  goods  entering  the  Senussi  country  and  a  small 
sum  on  the  sale  of  a  camel,  sheep  or  goat,  but  it  is  expected  that,  in 
view  of  the  friendly  relations  at  present  existing  between  the 
Italian  Government  and  the  Emir  Idris,  a  system  of  customs  will 
be  organised  to  encourage*  trade  between  the  interior  and  the 
coastal  districts.  In  the  future  it  will  be  interesting  to  observe  in 
what  direction  the  Senussi  will  develop. 

The  organisation  has  departed  from  the  basic  elements  of  its 
inception.  Begun  as  an  isolated  religious  confraternity,  it  has 
expanded  by  way  of  mercantile  and  political  influence  into  a 
dynastic  entity  whose  desire  for  civilisation  must  necessarily  force 
it  along  lines  widely  divergent  from  those  contemplated  by  its 
founder.  It  is  certain  that  the  Emir  Idris  will  have  the  whole- 
hearted support  of  the  country  in  whatever  course  he  chooses  to 
pursue,  and  with  the  present  sympathetic  co-operation  of  the 
Italian  Government  it  is  probable  that  he  will  lead  the  march  of 
Arab  progress  in  North  Africa. 


APPENDIX  C 

Translation  of  Arab  Document  of  the  Welcome  given  at  Buseima. 

IN  the  name  of  God,  the  Compasionate,  the  Merciful. 

On  the  blessed  day  of  Friday,  28th  Rabia  eth  Thani,  1339, 
there  came  to  our  town  Buseima,  the  honourable  Ahmed  Abu 
Mohammed  Hassanein,  the  Egyptian,  son  of  Sheikh  Mohammed 
Ahmed  Hassanein  el  Bulaki,  the  professor  of  the  sacred  Azhar  and 
the  lady  Khadija  and  they  are  carrying  the  orders  of  His  Beati- 
tude our  Great  Prince,  Sayed  Mohammed  Idris,  son  of  Mohammed 
el  Mahdi  es  Senussi.  We  met  them  with  great  honour  and  hospi- 
tality and  congratulated  them  on  their  safe  arrival  to  us.  We 
hoped  that  God  may  be  exalted,  would  grant  success  to  their 
efforts,  and  return  them  safe  and  victorious  in  the  best  conditions 
for  the  sake  of  the  Prophet,  his  friends  and  his  family. 

Signed. 

Mohammed  Ali  el  Mardini 

Saad  Ibn  Ahmed  Faqrun 

Yunis  ibn  Mahi 

Suleiman  ibn  Khalid  Faqrun 

Omar  Ibn  el  Gaid 

Saleh  Ibn  Ahmed  Faqrun 

Translation  of  Arab  Document  of   Welcome  given  at  Kufara 
(Taj). 

ON  the  blessed  day  of  Friday  the  3rd  of  Jamad  el  Awal,  1339, 
there  came  to  our  town  in  Kufara  the  honoured  Ahmed  Mohammed 
Hassanein  Bey,  the  Egyptian,  son  of  Sheikh  Mohammed  Hassa- 
nein el  Bulaki,  professor  of  the  honoured  Azhar  and  the  lady 
Khadija.  They  were  carrying  the  orders  of  our  great  prince 
Sayed  Mohammed  Idris  el  Mahdi  es  Senussi  and,  according  to  the 
exalted  orders  we  met  them  with  all  honour  and  respect  and 
thanked  God  for  their  safe  arrival  to  us,  and  hoping  of  Him  their 
safe  return. 

Signed: 

The  Second  Adviser  of  Kufara,  Ahmed  es  Sussi,  May  God 
forgive  him. 

336 


APPENDICES  337 

The  Judge,  Osman  el  Barassi,  May  God  forgive  him. 

The  Adviser,  Sayed  Mohammed  Ibn  Omar  el  Fadhil,  May  God 
forgive  him. 

The  Wakil  of  the  Sayed  at  Kufara,  Mohammed  Saleh  el 
Baskari,  May  God  guard  him. 


APPENDIX  D 

Translation  of  original  MS  letter  of  Sidi  Ben  AH  eg  Senussi, 
founder  of  the  Senussi  Confraternity,  to  the  people  of  Wajcmga. 
Seen  in  Kufara. 

IN  the  name  of  God,  the  Compassionate,  the  Merciful,  May  God 
pray  on  our  master  Mohammed,  his  family  and  his  companions, 
and  may  He  give  them  peace ! 

It  is  from  the  chosen  of  his  God,  Mohammed  ibn  Ali  ibn  El 
Senussi  El  Khatabi  El  Hassani  El  Idrissi  to  the  noble  and  learned 
and  brilliant  Sheikh  Farag  El  Ginghawi  and  all  the  people  of 
Wajanga,  old  and  young,  male  and  female,  may  God  save  them  all 
and  give  them  their  wish  of  this  world  and  the  next !  Amen. 

Peace  be  upon  you  and  the  mercy  of  God,  His  blessings,  His 
salutations,  His  forgiveness  and  His  approval. 

Our  intention  and  our  wish  is,  first  to  enquire  after  you  and 
all  your  affairs,  may  God  guide  them  and  make  them  conform  with 
His  Book  and  the  tradition  of  His  Prophet  Mohammed. 

Secondly,  we  wish  to  ask  you  in  the  name  of  Islam  to  obey  God 
and  His  Prophet.  He,  praise  be  to  Him,  said  in  His  dear  Book, 
"Oh,  ye,  who  are  believers,  obey  God  and  obey  the  Prophet !"  He 
also  said,  "He  who  obeys  the  Prophet  has  also  obeyed  God."  He 
also  said,  "He  who  obeys  God  and  His  Prophet  has  won  a  great 
victory."  He  also  said,  "Those  who  obey  God  and  the  Prophet, 
they  are  with  the  prophets  whom  God  has  rewarded." 

We  wish  to  ask  you  to  obey  what  God  and  His  Prophet  have 
ordered,  making  the  five  prayers,  keeping  the  month  of  Ramadan, 
giving  tithe,  making  the  Haj  to  the  sacred  home  of  God  and  avoid- 
ing what  God  has  forbidden,  of  telling  lies,  abusing  people  behind 
their  backs,  taking  unlawfully  other  people's  money,  drinking  wine, 
killing  people  unlawfully,  giving  false  evidence  and  other  things 
which  God  has  forbidden. 

In  following  these  you  will  gain  everlasting  good  and  endless 
profits  which  will  never  be  taken  from  you. 

Some  men  of  your  country  had  asked  us  to  send  with  them 

338 


APPENDICES  339 

some  of  our  ekhwan  [brothers]  in  order  to  remind  them  of  God 
and  teach  them  what  God  and  his  Prophet  have  ordained  and  guide 
them  rightly.  We  decided  to  do  this  because  it  is  our  profession 
[mission]  for  which  God  has  put  us,  i.e.  to  remind  the  negligent, 
teach  the  ignorant  and  guide  him  who  has  gone  astray.  But  at 
that  time  we  were  in  the  sacred  "Haramain"  [Mecca].  When  we 
arrived  in  these  parts  we  occupied  ourselves  with  guiding  the  peo- 
ple to  the  paths  of  God  and  we  did  not  find  anyone  of  your  country 
with  whom  to  send  those  who  would  teach  people  this  religion. 

Now  our  sons  of  Zawaya,  who  are  the  inhabitants  of  Tazerr, 
which  you  know,  have  come  to  us  and  repented  and  asked  us  to 
build  a  zawia  at  the  mentioned  Tazerr.*  Our  intention  is  to  be- 
come your  neighbours  and  teach  you  and  your  sons  of  the  Book  of 
God  and  the  tradition  his  Prophet,  Mohammed.  May  God's 
prayers  and  peace  be  on  him !  Also  we  intend  to  make  peace  be- 
tween you  and  the  Arabs  who  invade  you  and  take  your  sons  and 
your  money.  In  doing  this  we  will  be  enacting  what  God  has  said, 
"If  two  parties  of  believers  fight,  make  peace  between  them.'1 
Also  his  saying,  "Fear  God,  make  peace  between  one  another  and 
obey  God  and  His  Prophet  if  you  are  believers."  He  also  said, 
"Give  an  order  for  alms  or  a  good  deed  or  making  peace  between 
people.  He  who  does  this  for  the  sake  of  pleasing  God  will  gain 
a  great  reward." 

In  this  way  there  will  be  co-operation  for  doing  good  and  for 
piety,  as  God  has  ordained  by  saying,  "Co-operate  for  doing  good 
and  for  piety  and  do  not  co-operate  for  vice  and  assault."  The 
Prophet  said,  "People  of  God,  be  brethren  and  help  one  another  in 
religion." 

As  to  rebellion  and  dispute,  no  good  comes  out  of  them  and 
God  has  forbidden  them  in  his  dear  Book  by  saying,  "Do  not  dis- 
pute or  you  will  fail  and  be  dispersed ;  be  patient,  for  God  is  with 
the  patient." 

Inshallah,  if  you  obey  our  orders  and  accept  our  advice,  then  a 
few  of  our  sons  will  come  to  you  to  teach  your  sons  the  Book  of 
God,  and  your  men  the  tradition  and  ways  of  His  Prophet.  You 
will  then  not  fear  anyone  and  you  will  have  much  of  God's  bounty 
and  mercy,  Inshallah. 

Give  our  salutation  and  this  letter  of  ours  to  all  who  are  round 
you,  those  who  wish  for  the  obedience  of  God  and  His  Prophet  and 
who  wish  to  follow  the  Book  and  the  Tradition. 

*  Tazerr  was  the  old  name  for  Kufara. 


340    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

May  God,  may  He  be  praised,  make  you  of  those  who  guide 
and  who  have  been  guided  and  of  those  who  point  out  what  is  good 
and  who  follow  it ! 

May  you  remain  in  endless  peace  and  health ! 

Dated  the  fourth  day  of  Moharren,  1266. 


GLOSSARY 

"Adaryayan!"    A   cry   used   when   halting    camels.     "We  have 

arrived,  oh  sick  ones." 
Agal.    A  rope  used  to  tie  a  camel's  legs  or  the  thick  cords  worn 

on  the  head  above  the  kufiya. 
Alaf.    A  measure  of  fodder. 
"Allahu  Akbar."     God  is  great. 
"Aselam,ii,    Alaikum,   Marhaba,    Marhdba."     Greetings    to   you. 

Welcome ! 
"Ash  hadu  ilia  Ittaha  ill  Allah  wa  ash  hadu  inna  Mohammed  an 

rasul  Allah."     I  confess  there  is  no  God  but  God,  and  I  confess 

that  Mohammed  is  His  Prophet. 

Asida.     Sticky  mass  of  damp  flour  flavoured  with  onions  or  oil. 
Azzau.     The  act  of  calling  to  prayer. 
Barracan.     A  long  cotton  garment  worn  by  the  women. 
Basoor.     Camel  saddle  in  which  women  travel. 
Bayid.     p'ar. 

"Beit  esh  shar."    Camel's-hair  tent. 
"Beit  Uttah,"     The  house  of  God. 
Belad.     Village. 
"Bisilama."     With  safety. 
"Bismillah."     By  the  name  of  God. 
"Bismillah  arahman  arahmim."     By  the  name  of  God  the  merciful 

and  compassionate. 
Burnus.     Arab  garment. 
ETchwan.     Brothers.     Used   colloquially   in   Libya    to   mean   "a 

brother." 

"El  Fagr."     Dawn. 

"El  Maktub  MaktvJb"     What  is  written  is  written. 
"En  nahs  teyibin  hen<a.     Ana,  Mabsut."     The  people  are  good 

here.    I  am  happy. 

Fadhlmg.     Sitting  down  and  talking. 
Fanatis.     Tin  water-carriers. 

"Fatha."     The  first  sura  (chapter)  of  the  Koran. 
Fatta.     An  Arab  dish  of  carrots,  bread  and  eggs. 

341 


342    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 

Feisha.     A  gourd  used  as  a  charm  to  keep  a  husband's  affection. 

Ftt-jtt.     Red  pepper. 

Gar  a.     A  tabular  hill. 

Gebel.     A  mountain. 

Gherds.     Dunes. 

Gibli.     Sand-laden  south  wind. 

Girba.     Dried  goatskin  water-carrier. 

Haji.     A  man  who  has  made  the  pilgrimage  (Haj  )  to  Mecca. 

Hajin.     Trotting  camels. 

"HamduMlah."     Thank  God. 

Hamla.     Baggage  camels. 

Hatia.     A  depression  containing  brushwood. 

Hawia*     Baggage  saddle. 

"Haya  alia  Salat!  Haya  atta  falah."  The  Moslem  call  to  prayer. 

He  jab.     Charm. 

Hezaam.     Sash  or  belt. 

Hubz.     Bread. 

"Inshattah  ma  temut  itta  Islam."     If  God  wills  (or  I  hope)  you 

will  die  a  Moslem. 
Jaafa.     A  large  leather  sack. 
Jelabia.     Wide  native  coat. 

Jerd.     Native  garment — a  strip  of  woollen  or  silk  stuff. 
Jubba.     Arab  under  dress. 
Kaftan.     Long  Arab  inner  coat. 
Kavmdkaan.     Governor. 
"Keif  halak?"     How  are  you ? 
"Khallas."     Finished. 
Khoor.     Saddle-bag. 

Kibla.     The  direction  of  prayer  (towards  Mecca). 
Kufiya.     Arab  head-dress. 
Laghbi.     Fermented  palm- juice. 
Leaf  =  palm  leaf. 
Ma-araka.     Skull  cap. 
"MaaseUam."     With  safety. 
"Mabsut."     Happy. 
Madna.    Tower. 
Mamnum.     Grateful. 
Mandtt.     Handkerchief. 
"Marhaba."     Welcome. 
Megliss.     Council. 
Mejidie.     A  Turkish  coin  worth  3s.  to  4s. 


GLOSSARY  343 

M  throb.     Praying-niche. 

Mimbar.     Pulpit. 

Morabit.     As  an  adjective  "Holy."    As  a  noun  "The  tomb  of  a 

holy  person." 
"Min  da?"     Who  is  that? 
Naga.     A  female  camel. 
"Nahs  Taibeen."     Good  people. 
Nugga.     A  Beduin  tent. 
OJce.     A  measure. 
Qubba.     A  domed  holy  tomb. 
Qurush.     A  small  Turkish  coin. 
"Raqa-at."     Positions  or  stages  of  prayer. 
"Rahmat  Allah!"    The  peace  of  God. 

"Rahmat  tdlahi  Allahim"     "The  peace  of  God  be  on  him." 
Sabakha.     A  salt  marsh. 
"Salamu  aleikum  wa  Rahmdb  AUah."     Greetings  to  you  and  the 

peace  of  Allah. 
Sederiya.     A  short  shirt. 
Serg.     A  saddle. 
Shadouk.     Well. 

Shamadan.     A  certain  kind  of  wind-proof  candlestick. 
Shehada.     The  Moslem  profession  of  faith,  "There  is  no  God  but 

God,"  etc. 

"Shey  latif."     A  pleasant  thing. 
Sitt.     Lady. 
Suq.     Market. 
Sura.     Chapter  of  Koran. 
Tobh.     Woman's  dress. 
Tukel.     Round  hut. 

"Vila-la  een."     Women's  cry  of  rejoicing. 
WakU.     Representative  (steward  or  lieutenant-governor). 
Wazir.     Minister. 
Zawia.     College. 
Zeit.     Oil. 
Zemzvmaya.     Felt-covered  water-bottle. 


INDEX 


ABDEL  SALAM,  Haji,  22,  23 
Abdil  Rahman  Bu  Zetina,  Sayed, 

194 

Abdul  Kasim,  Sheikh,  90,  92,  94 
Abdul  Rahim  (see  Rahim) 
Abdullah  Shekari,  Sheikh,  204 
Abdullah,  a  famous  guide,  96,  97, 

98,  103 

a  quarrel  with  Mohammed,  248 
a  re-echo  of,  243 
author  "relieved  of,"  195 
complete  demoralisation  of,  138 
cunning   treachery    of,    x,    181 

et  seq. 

his  fear  of  the  Bazamas,  172 
his     route    to     Taiserbo,     126 

et  seq. 
meets  author  in  the  Holy  Place, 

193 

misses  his  way,  134  et  seq. 
over-reaches  himself,  185 
secures  permission  to  camp  in 

Buseima,  148 
visits  his  relations,  161 
Abdullahi  Sahabi,  qubba  of,  95 
Abed,  Sidi  el,  hospitality  of,  223 

et  seq. 

Abid  Auwaghir  tribe,  the,  206 
Abidat  tribe,  the,  206 
Abu  Bakr,  Sheikh  of  Ribiana,  236 
Abu  Bekr  Manfi,  and  Hassanein's 

accident,  302  et  seq. 
succeeds   Mohammed  as  guide, 

300,  301 
"Abu  fasada"  of  Egypt,  the,  160, 

235 

Abyssinian       soldiers,       fantastic 
dance  of,  5 


Agaling  camels:  a  saying  of  the 

Prophet,  272 
Agil,  204,  205 
Ahmed  Bey  Hassanein  (gee  Has- 

sanein) 

Ahmed  Effendi,  94 
Ahmed  el  Khadri,  220 
Ahmed  es  Senussi,  Sayed,  a  last 

blessing  from,  245 
photographed  by  author,  240 
Ahmed  es   Sherif,  Sayed,  9,   16, 

18,  109,  197 
caravans    across    a   new   route, 

262 

influence  of,  226 
orders  emigration  of  Madeni  to 

Taiserbo,  158 
Ahmed,  Sidi,  119 
Ahmed,  Sultan,  his  route  to  Ku- 

fara,  92 
Ain  Jelelat,  157 
Ain  Talib,  157 
Ait  Anira  tribe,  150 
Alexandria,    reached    by    author, 

308 

Ali  Basha  el  Abdya,  General,  3 
Ali  Dinar,  Sultan  of  Darfur,  39 
Amar,  a  feat  of  endurance  by,  280 
ill  with  fever,  285 
kills  and  eats  a  sand  mouse,  259 
Mohammed's      follower,      248, 

251,  256 
Antelat,  27 

Arab  hospitality,  laws  of,  245 
outstanding    instances    of,    11, 

198,  223  et  seq.,  230 
Arab  love  of  secrecy,  70 


345 


346    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 


Arabs,  European  policy  towards, 

63 

how  British  prestige  has  dwin- 
dled among,  111 
responsive  sympathy  of,  300 
their  distrust  and  suspicion  of 

strangers,  204,  206 
their  estimate  of  gold,  166 
tiffs    with   the    Sudanese,    130, 

135,  151 

(see  also  Senussi) 
Arida,  80 

Asayad,  zawia  of,  a  visit  to,  214 
"Asida,"  and  of  what  it  is  com- 
posed, 261 
Aujela,  19,  88 

author's  reception  in,  94  et  »eq. 
ekhwan  in,  94 
Aulad  Bu  Hassan,  151 
Auwaghirs,  an  encampment  of,  1 

horsemanship  of,  7 
Awardel,  247 

BADR,  Sheikh,  206,  207 
Bahet  Hafan,  292 
Ball,  Dr.,  Director  of  Desert  Sur- 
veys of  Egypt,  xii 
Barca,  213,  229 
Basha  el  Ghariam,  Sharuf,  4 
Bashar,  blind  poet  of  Aleppo,  84 
Bazama  family,  plots  of,  x,  163, 

164,  165 

Bazama,  Hasan,  240 
Bazama,  Husein,  240 
Beduin,  feminine  attire  described, 

44 

idea  of  "comfort,"  231,  234 
ignorance  of  distance,  84 
protest  against  author's  visit,  93 
Beduins,    and   the   continued   ex- 
istence  of   the   Mahdi,    167, 
215 

appetites  of,  52 
fanaticism  of,  56 
fatalism  of,  254 


Beduins,  friction  with  the  blacks, 
124 

hospitality  of,  71 

loyalty  of,  62 

Sidi  Idris  and  the,  110 

simple  life  of,  84 

their  fear  of  black  slaves,  81 

tribute  to  generosity  of,  36 
Ben  Ali  es  Senussi,  Sidi,  151,  204 

home  of,  293 

important  historical  letter  from. 

221,  338-340 
Benghazi,  1,  2 

death  of  Korayim  at,  18 

en  fete,  5 

festas  at,  2 

Government  House  at,  2 

hospitality  at,  18 

in  suspense  at,  19 

Rohlfs'  escape  to,  149 

sale  of  ivory  in,  109 
Bir  Mareg,  80 
Bir  Msus,  87 
Bir  Nasrani,  149,  155 
Bir  Rassam,  73 

wells  of,  74 

"Black  bears,"  the,  130 
Boema,  17,  158,  192 

a  visit  to,  210 

Boema-Farafra  route,  the,  254 
Bornu,  119 
Brahsa  tribe,  the,  206 
British  prestige,  loss  of,  111 
Bu  Alia,  288,  289 
Bu  Badr,  Sheikh  Mansur,  ix,  176, 

181,  183,  184 

"Bucksumat,"  definition  of,  274 
Bu  Fadil,  195 

Bu  Gemira,  Sidi  Yadem,  295 
Bu  Guettin,  Bukr,  17,  149 
Bu  Hassan,  151 
Bu  Helayig,  Mabruk,  206 
Bu   Korayim,   Hamid,    149,   206, 
207,  217 


INDEX 


347 


Buma,  192,  210,  211 

stories    of    Rohlfs'    adventures 

told  at,  ix 
Bu  Matar,  Sheikh  (see  Suleiman 

Bu  Matar) 
Bu  Regea,  Sheikh,  ix,  149,  150, 

156,  162 
Burton,  Sir  Richard,  a  truism  of, 

48 

Bu  Salama,  288,  291 
Buseima,  15 
dates  of,  157 
described,  154 
dislike  of  strangers  in,  159 
enmity  of,  163 
fearsome  tales  of  the  Zouias  of, 

143 

"gara"  of,  in  sight,  145 
the  charm  of,  155 
traces  of  Rohlfs'  journey  at,  ix 
translation  of  Arab  document  of 

welcome  given  at,  336-337 
Zouia  stronghold  at,  91 
Bush  Naf  el  Ghadad,  177,  206 
Buttafal,  15,  91,  120,  121 

a    time-honoured    custom    neg- 
lected at,  217 

Bu  Zetina,  Sayed  Abdil  Rahman, 
194 

CAMEL,  and  sand  grouse,  story  of 

a,  260 

regular  pace  of  a,  270 
Camel  Corps  Patrol,  a  welcome, 

306 

Camels,  a  stampede  of,  57,  274 
effect  of  singing  on,  79,  86,  145 
how  loaded,  51,  275 
the  first  sign  of  thirst  in,  285 
their  ninth  day  without  water, 

139 

Caravans,  task  of  loading,  115 
Christmas   in  the  desert,   112   et 

seq. 
Cleopatra's  asp,  235 


Coti    face    powder,    coveted    by 

Omar,  96 
"Couss-couss,"  200 
Cyrenaica,  288 

Agil  offers  allegiance  of  Zouias 

to  the  Senussi  in,  205 
capital  of,  1 
future  of,  110 
Governor  of,  receives  author,  ix 

(see  De  Martino,  Senator) 
Italian  control  of,  1Q,  31 

DAHWA,  157 
Dakhla  Desert,  16 
"Darb,"  definition  of,  205 
Dates,  an  Arab  proverb  regard- 
ing, 274 
their   various   uses    in   Kufara, 

234 
De  Martino,  Senator,  ix,  3,   18, 

110 
Desert,  the,  and  the  development 

of  character,  129 
call  of,  300 

Christmas  in,  112  et  seq. 
cities:   a   celebrated  group   of, 

158 

customs  of,  65,  175 
fatalism  of,  68,  168,  254,  265 
hospitable  customs   of   nomads 

of,  65,  117 

how  news  is  carried  in,  67 
how  "roads"  are  marked  in,  54 
illnsiveness  of  distances  in,  50 
mirages  in,  53,  134,  135,  187, 

175,  277 

moonlight  in,  246 
scent  of,  4 

subtle  and  cruel  charm  of,  58 
wireless  telegraphy  system  of, 

25,  54,  58 
Diranjedi,  17,  156 
Di  Vita,  General,  ix,  3 
Drunkenness,      punishment      for, 
153,  227 


348    THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 


"Dune  of  Firepots,"  the,  167 
Dunes,  elusive,  267,  268,  270  et 

seq. 
Durur,  servant  of  Sidi  Saleh,  223 

EAGLE,  an,  Yusuf's  story  of,  266 
East,  the,  fatalism   of,  68,   168, 
254,  265 

heredity  and,  194 

hospitable  customs  of,  65,  117 
Eastern  Sahara,  the,  oases  of,  15 
Eckhart,  16 

Egypt,     destruction    of     Senussi 
zawias  in,  109 

vulnerable  of  attack,  xi 
Egyptian  forts,  xi 
El  Abd,  157 
El  Abed,  Sidi,  194,  223 
El  Amra,  a  Ealt  at,  301 
El  Atash,  140 
El  Erg,  99,  112 
El  Gumma,  239 
El  Harrash,  172 
El  Kasr,  91 
El  Wadi,  91,  157 
Eritreans,  1 

European  policy  towards  Arabs, 
63 

FADIL,  Jebail,  229 
Fagil,  Sidi  el,  Imam,  295 
Faied  tribe,  the,  206 
Faisul,  Emir,  111 
Faqrun,  Maihub,  154,  156 
Faqrun,  Saleh,  154,  156,  163 
Farafra,  route  to  Kufara,  92 
Farraj,  56,  59,  61,  81,  82,  151, 

158,  166,  180 
his  mighty  oath,  66 
politeness  of,  in  trying  circum- 
stances, 136 

"Fatha,"  the  (opening  sura  of  the 
Koran),  as  both  blessing  and 
oath,  27 
Fawai  tribe,  151 


Feasts    in   the    Holy    Place,    185 

et  seq. 
Feisha,  the,  and  its  significance, 

99 

Festal  sheep,  sacrifice  of,  156 
Fetater,  Haji,  26,  82,  163 
Fezzan  desert,  14 
"Firepots,  Dune  of,"  167 
Flea-hunting  in  Jedabia,  60 
Forbes,  Rosita  ("Sitt  Khadija"), 
a     prisoner     in     earnest,     185 

et  seq. 

a  risky  snapshot  in  Kufara,  202 
a  shooting  match  with  the  Mo- 

jabras,  69 
a  terrible  walk,  136 
across  the  desert  with  She-ib, 

64  et  seq. 
an  interrupted  visit  to  Hawa- 

wiri,  180  et  seq. 
an    uncomfortable    doze,    285, 

286 

an  unforgettable  picture,  273 
and  Haji  Fetater,  26,  82,  163 
and  Hassanein's  accident,  302 

et  seq. 

at  a  dinner  to  the  Emir,  3 
bargains  for  festal  sheep,  152 
depressing     Job's     comforters 

and,  229 

discovers  human  skeletons,  169 
dines  with  Sayed  Rida,  12 
dislocates  her  foot,  13,  49 
dispenses  medicine,  179,  247 
draws  sand  maps  at  Taiserbo, 

158 
encounters  a  severe  gibli,   116 

et  seq. 
end    of    her    most    unpleasant 

Christmas,  125 
enters    the    dwelling    of    Sidi 

Idris,  194 

enters  the  Holy  Place,  193 
fatalism    of    her    retinue,    136 

et  seq. 


INDEX 


349 


Forbes,  Rosita,  feasts  in  the  Holy 

Place,  195  et  seq. 
finds  Rohlfs'  traces,  ix,  14-9 
first  sight  of  Sidi  Idris,  2 
fitted    for   "strange   garments," 

33 

guest  of  Sayed  Rida,  21  et  seq. 
heavily  veiled  in  Kufara,  197 
her  last  Arabic  blessing,  299 
in  Beduin  feminine  attire,  44, 

54 
invited  to   proceed  to   Kufara, 

189 
limited   water  supply   and   the 

consequence,  78 
loses  count  of  time,  225 
makes     herself     understood    in 

Libya,  278 
pours   oil   on   troubled   waters, 

130 

rates  Beduins  and  blacks,  151 
received    by    Sayed    Rida,    10 

et  seq. 
sees  an  original  letter  of  Sidi 

Ben  Ali  es  Senussi,  221  (for 

translation  see  pp.  338-340) 
seventeen  hours  of  torture,  232 
starts  for  Jalo,  98 
starts  on  the  great  adventure,  7 

et  seq. 
strikes  the  Jalo-Jaghabub  route, 

289 
the  Sahara  gives  up  her  secret, 

191 
through  the  mountains,  251   et 

seq. 

unravels  a  mystery,  164  et  seq. 
visited    by    mother    of    Sheikh 

Musa,  179 
Forth,      Col.,      Commandant     of 

Camel  Corps,  xi 
Frontier  Districts  Administration, 

the,  x,  xi 
a  search  party  from,  306  et  seq. 


GARBOAH  EFFENDI,  108 
Garu,    Beduin    tales    of    Sidi    el 
Mahdi's     disappearance     at, 
167 

Gebail  Fadil,  why  so  named,  229 
Gebel  Akhbar,  205,  288 
Gebel  Neri,  170  et  seq. 

as  landmarks,  236,  252 
Gezira,  157 
Gharibeel,    Musa,    ix,    176,    183, 

184,  225 

Ghawazi  tribe,  151 
Ghemines,  7 
Gibli,  a  memorable,  116  et  teq. 

definition  of  a,  60 
Girba,  306 

Hassanein  treated  at,  309 
Girba,  a,  definition  of,  90 
Gold,    usual    exchange    for,    229 
(note) 

HABALLAH  EL  ABED,  150 
Haifan,  Tawati,  208 
"Haifa,"  definition  of,  157 
Hameida   Bey   Zeitun,    101,   105, 

112,  163 
Hamid    Bu    Korayim,    149,    206, 

207,  217 

Hasan  Bazama,  240 
Hassan  tribe,  the,  206 
Hassanein  Bey,  accompanies   au- 
thor to  Libyan   Desert,  viii, 
6 

an  accident  to,  302  et  seq. 
an  attack  of  rheumatism,  49,  50 
as  barber,  292 
as  watch-mender,  121 
feasts  in  the  Holy  Place,  195 
his  yellow  slippers,  22 
illness  of,  203 
in  dire  straits,  135,  137 
left    to    entertain    ekhwan    at 

Jaghabub,  295 

made  comfortable  after  his  ac- 
cident, 307 


350  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 


Hassanein   Bey,  preparations  for 

escape  from  Jedabia,  42 
recovers  a  lost  sardine  in  the 

sand,  281 

speaks  out,  182,  183 
suspected    of    Pan-Islamic   de- 
signs, 19,  28 
thermos  flask  of,  and  Musa  She- 

ib's  surprise,  78-9 
travelling  kit  of,  6,  33,  44,  249 
"Hattab,"  definition  of,  157,  175 
Hauwa,  the  slave-girl,   117,  118, 

121,  130,  184,  193 
Hawaish,  meaning  of   the  word, 

171 
Hawaish  mountains,  256  et  scq., 

267 

the  old-time  name  for,  170-1 
Hawari,  15,  158 

apologies  for  reception  of  au- 
thor from,  225 

construction  of  houses  at,  176 
loading  camels  at,  251 
stories    of    Rohlfs'    adventures 

told  at,  ix 

treachery  at,  172  et  seq. 
tribesmen  of,  interview  author, 

177 

Hawari  Gari,  174 
farewell  to,  252 
Hawawiri,  a  visit  to,  190 
an  interrupted  visit  to,  180 
reached  by  Rohlfs,  17 
Hejaz  Kingdom,  the,  110 
Helaig,  204 
Hilal,  Sayed,  his  house  at  Lebba, 

112 

Hilal,  Sidi,  flees  to  Tobruk,  120 
Hohsa  tribe,  the,  206 
Hornemann     on    the    people    of 

Aujela,  174 
Hubner,  16 
Hunter,  Brig.-Gen.,  xi 
Husein  Bazama,  240 
Hussein,  King,  111 


Hussein,     Sidi     (wakil     of     Sidi 

Idris),  296 
blesses  the  author,  299 

IBRAHIM,    SIDI     (son    of    Sayed 

Ahmed  Sherif),  239 
Ibrahim  Bishari,  Sheikh,  103,  104, 

108,  110 
Idris,  Sidi,  a  dinner  in  honour  of, 

3  et  seq. 
a  personal  letter  from,  x,  8,  67, 

90,  101,  102  et  passim 
appearance  of,  3 
departs  for  Italy,  6 
foreign  policy  of,  2,  31,   110, 

227 
gives  his  blessing  to  author,  4, 

101 
his   house   in   the  Holy   Place, 

194 

unquestioning  obedience  of  his 
followers,  5,  109,  205,  226- 
7,  291 

Irak  tree,  the,  and  its  uses,  205 
Italians   and   Senussi  ratify   pro- 
visional treaty  of  1916,  2,  31, 
110 

Italy,  broad-minded  policy  of,  110 
Ivory,  a  fifty  per  cent,  profit  on, 
108 

JAGHABUB,  death  of   Mohammed 
Ben  Ali  at,  14 

described,  293 

entry  into,  294 

freed  slaves  of,  and  their  gar- 
dens, 293 

Mohammed's  mission  to,  292 

route  to  Kufara,  92,  262 

the  college  buildings,  298 

university  of,  293  et  seq. 

visits  to  mosque  of,  297,  298 
Jalo,  a  start  for,  98 

departure  from,  115 

politics  discussed  at,  109  et  seq. 


INDEX 


351 


Jalo,  Rohlfs'  departure  from,  16 

routes  from,  to  Kufara,  91 

trade  of,  108 

triumphant  arrival  at,  88,   100 

et  seq. 

Jedabia,  author  watches  a  dance 
at,  39  et  seq. 

beginning  of  the  great  adven- 
ture at,  1 

escape  from,  39  et  teq. 

plans  for  flight  from,  21  et  teq. 
Jinns,  elusive,  171,  301 
Jof,  16,  158,  177,  192 

a  delayed  messenger  from,  181 

a  visit  to,  218 

exclusiveness  of  inhabitants  of, 

219 

meaning  of,  214 

population  of,  219 

qubba  of  daughters  of  Sidi  el 
Mahdi  at,  219 

return  to,  237 

the  Kaimakaan  of,  and  Abdul- 
lah, 185,  186 

the  market  in,  213 

KALB  EL  METBMMA,  127 

Kasr  Diranjedi  (El  Wadi),  157 

Kebabo,  the  Senussi  in,  15 

(see  also  Kufara) 
Keid  el  Adu  (original  name  of  the 

Hawaish  mountains),  171 
Khadija,  Mohammed's  first  wife, 

197 
"Khadija,     Sitt,"     Mohammedan 

name  of  author,  54 
Kheima,  The,  255 
Koran,  the,  and  man's  behaviour 

towards  women,  71 
as  the  code  of  justice,  227 
Korayim,  Abd  Rabu,  17,  18,  149, 

206,  207,  217 
Kseba,  91 
Kufara,  a  French  prisoner  of  war 

in,  16 


Kufara,    a    gargantuan    feast    at, 
198  et  seq. 

absence  of  sugar  in,  196 

brigands  of,  205 

"cities"  of,  203  et  seq. 

commercial  aspect  of,  159 

feasts  in,  195  et  seq. 

flora  and  fauna  of  the  wadi,  235 

gardens  of,  212 

prices  in,  228 

routes  to,  91,  92,  108,  109,  262 

sacrosanctity  of,  14 

the  Wadi  of,  208 

what  it  owes  to  the  Mahdi,  108, 

205,  228 

"Kufra,"  Rohlfs',  viii,  18 
Kusebeya,  157,  303 

LAGHBI,    what    it    is,    and    laws 

against,  153 
Lake  Chad,  14 
Landmarks,  impromptu,  268 
Lebba,  99 
Lebba,  a  visit  to,  112 

the  zawia  at,  113 

Libya,  a  German  scientific  expedi- 
tion to,  16 
difficulties   of  survey  work  in, 

76 

exclusiveness  of,  x 
feelings  towards  Britain  in,  109 
its  devotion  to  its  ruler,  291 
mountain  oases  of,  171 
smoking    forbidden    in,    4,    14, 

220,  308 

the  mentality  of,  189 
Libyan  Desert,  the,  an  excursion 

to,  6  et  seq. 
man's   trust  in   some  unknown 

Power  in,  128 
the  postman  of,  75 

MABRUK,  Chief  of  the  Police,  23, 

24,  29,  37 
Mabruk,  the  slave,  298 


352  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 


Mabruk  Bu  Helayig,  206 
Mabus  (village),  91 
Mabus  el  Awadil,  157 
Mabus  Gaballa,  157 
MacDonnell,    Col.,    Governor    of 

Western  Desert,  xi 
Madeni,  the,  compulsory  emigra- 
tion of,  158 

Mahdi,   the,  Arab  belief  in  con- 
tinued existence  of,  167,  215 
frees  slaves,  293 
gara  of,  289 
his  work  for  Kufara,  108,  205, 

228 

introduces  jerd  and  jubba,  205 
opens   Jaghabub-Kufara  route, 

262 
orders  cisterns  to  be  erected  at 

the  Mehemsa,  270 
qubba  of,  215 
Mahmud   el   Jeddawi,   227,   229, 

237,  242,  252 
Maktu,  a  rest  at,  301 
Mannismann,  assassination  of,  24, 

95 

Manshia,  99 
Mansur  Bu  Badr  of  the  Gebail, 

ix,  149,  176,  181,  183,  184 
Map-making  in  the   desert,   158, 

159 

Mareg,  Bir,  80 
Marriages  arranged  in  the  desert, 

83 

Martino,  Senator  de,  ix,  3,  18,  110 
Matruh,  309 
Mazeel,  134 

Mecca,  a  Senussi  zawia  near,  111 
Mediterranean,      the,      Egyptian 

Coastguard  forts  along,  xi 
Mehemsa,  the,  barraking  at,  268 

cisterns  of,  270 
Merg,  279 
Mighrib,  of  the  Mojabra  tribe,  74, 

81,  87,  99 


Mirages   in  the  desert,   53,   134, 

135,  137,  175,277 
Misurata,  267 
Mogharba  tribe,  the,  206 
Mohammed  Ali,  polices  his  fron- 
tiers, xi 
Mohammed  Ben  Ali,  teachings  of, 

14 

history  of,  323  et  seq. 
important     letter     from,     221, 

338-340 

zawia  at  Lebba,  113 
Mohammed  el  Jeddawi,  Sidi,  196 
Mohammed      el      Madeni,      Sidi, 

sheikh    of    Gezira,    ix,    149, 

151,  156,  157,  158,  159 
Mohammed,  Haji,  39 
Mohammed  Hilal  es  Senussi,  9 
Mohammed  Idris  es  Senussi,  the 

Emir  (see  Idris) 
Mohammed  Maghruf,  103,  108 
Mohammed    Quemish    (see    Que- 

mish) 
Mohammed   Sherif,   Sheikh,   211, 

212 

and  the  Kufara  tribesmen,  213 
and  the  Zieghen  route,  255 
Mohammed  Semmen,  Sayed,  208 
Mohammed,  Sidi,  the  Mahdi,  14, 

95,  108 

(see  also  Mahdi,  the) 
Mohammed  Tawati,   a  paralysed 

"close  friend  of  the  Mahdi," 

227 

Mohammed  Teifaitah,  209 
Mohgen,  The,  255 
Mohi  ed  Din,  Sidi  (son  of  Sayed 

Ahmed  Sherif),  239 
Mojabras,  the,  68  et  seq. 
Moraja  (author's  sergeant),  105, 

126,  127,  159,  160,  180 
marriage  of,  241 
reaches  Aujela,  96 
Moslem,   the,   fanaticism   of,   24, 

111 


INDEX 


353 


Msus,  Bir,  87 

Mukhtar  attacks  Bomba,  119 

:'Mulukhia,"  195 

Musa  Gharibeel,  Sheikh,  ix,  176, 

183,  184,  225 

Musa  Squaireen,  Sheikh,  ix,  176 
Mustapha,  22,  23 

"NASRANI,"    Moslem    hatred    of, 

26,  56,  76,  107,  150,  206 
Nasrani  well,  the,  149,  155 
North    African    travels,    Rohlfs' 

work  on,  viii,  17 
Nubian  sandstone,  146 

OMAR    (Government  interpreter), 

27,  87,  89,  95 

Omar,  of  She-ib's  caravan,  and  a 

suitor  for  his  sister,  83 
Omar    Pasha,    a    dinner    to    Sidi 

Idris,  3 
Omar,    Sheikh    of   Lebba,   greets 

author,  113 

Omar,  Sidi,  ix,  149,  150,  156 
a  broad  hint  to  author  from,  225 
as  guide  to  author,  201,  202 
his  affection  for  author,  226 
his  fear  of  the  camera,  240 
"Onshur,"  definition  of,  l64« 
Orfella,  the,  120 
Osman  Qadi,  227 

terrified  at  being  photographed, 

240 
Osman,  Saved,  judge  of  Kufara, 

195 
Oweinat  well,  279 

PALM-LEAF  baskets  and  rope,  212 
Paper  money,  usual  exchange  for, 

229  (note) 

Passometer,  a,  accurate  measure- 
ments of,  80 

Paternity,  importance  of,  131 
Pianola,  a,  in  the  house  of  Sayed 
Saleh,  198 


QUEIROLO,  Cavaliere,  ix 

Quemish,  Mohammed  (guide),  x 
a  feat  of  endurance  by,  280 
and  Abdullah's  treachery,  186 
and  the  flight  from  Taj,  238 
author  introduced  to,  47 
cowardice  of,  160 
demoralisation  of,  173 
dispatched  to  Taj,  187 
fine  qualities  displayed  in  a  try- 
ing time,  129  et  seq. 
quarrels  with  Abdullah,  248 
recovers    his    self-respect,    181 

et  seq. 

Sayed  Rida  entrusts  care  of  au- 
thor to,  35 

sent  to  Jaghabub,  292 
take''  leave  of  author,  299 
wants  a  star  "put  out,"  272 


RAHIM,  Abdul,  escorts  author,  27, 

96,  97,  241 
hides  in  his  tent,  180 
his  fear  of  the  Bazamas,  172 
on  the  Senussi  influence,  119 
poor  physique  of,  130,  160 
Ramadan  Shetewi,  120 
Rassam,  Bir,  73 

Red    Sea,   the,    Egyptian   Coast- 
guard forts  along,  xi 
Regima,     Senussi     understanding 
with  Italians  at,  2,  31,  110, 
227 
Ribiana,  15 

an  invitation  to  visit,  refused, 

241 

arrival  of  a  spy  from,  163 
gara  of,  170 
mountain  of,  166 
population  of,  236 
Tebu   stronghold   at,   91,    150, 

157 
zawia  of,  236 


354   THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:    KUFARA 


Rida  el  Mahdi  es  Senussi,  Sayed, 

10 
a  festa  in  honour  of  author,  39 

et  teq. 

author  as  guest  of,  21 
author's  passport  from,  x,  90, 

101,  102  et  passim 
effect  of  his  letter,  93  et  passim 
fanaticism  of,  24 
favours  from,  33,  34,  97 
receives  author,  11 
Rohlfs,    ill-fated    expedition    of, 
16  et  seq.,  91,  149,  150,  154, 
189 

Rohlfs'  "Kufra,"  viii,  18 
Route  history,  311  et  teq. 

SAAD,  Sheikh,  183 

Sa-ad  el  Tebu,  220 

Safi  ed  Din,  Sayed,  10,  12 

Sahara,  the,  Kufara  the  secret  of, 

16,  20 

routes  discussed  at  Jalo,  109 
sunset  in,  127 
unforgivable  sins  in,  89 
Saleh  Effendi,  232,  237,  245 
Saleh  el  Baskari,  Sayed,  banquets 

to  author,  197  et  seq. 
receives  author,  194 
Saleh,  Sidi,  a  snapshot  of,  240 
hospitality  of,  223 
the  morabit  of,  88 
Salt  lake  in  the  desert,  153 
Salt    marshes,    proximity    of,    to 
ruined    Tebu    villages,    222, 
223,  236 
Sand-grouse  and  camel:  story  of, 

260 

Sand-rash,  torture  of,  284 
Sandstorms,  remarkable,  60,  11 6, 

263 

Sawani,  88 
Seif  el-Biram,  167 
Senegal,  Senussi  influence  in,  119 


Senussi  confraternity,  harsh  rules 
of  the,  14 

notes  on  history  of,  323  et  seq. 

original  letter  from  founder  of, 
to  people  of  Wajanga,  338- 
340 

story  of  the,  14,  323  et  seq. 
Senussi,    and    Italians,    a    provi- 
sional treaty,  2 

belief  in  continued  existence  of 
the  Mahdi,  167,  215 

difficulty  of  gaining  informa- 
tion from,  106 

distrust  of  strangers,  107 

Emir  of,  2  et  seq. 

faith  in  spiritual  and  menta* 
power  of  the  Sayeds,  291 

hatred  of  infidels,  15 

holy  place  of,  191  et  seq. 

home  of  the,  1 

hospitality  of,  299 

leader  of,  described,  3 

mentality  of,  107 

power  held  by  family  of,  33 

towns,  absence  of  cafes  in,  219 

zawia  at  Gezira,  157 
Senussi,    Sidi    (son    of    Sidi    el 

Abed),  239 

Shakri,  137,  151,  158,  159 
Sharruf,  99 

Sharuf  Basha  el  Ghariam,  4 
Shaving  extraordinary,  75,  292 
She-ib,  across  the  desert  with,  68 
et  seq. 

his  consideration  for  author,  71 

quotes  an  Arab  proverb,  73 
She-ib,  Musa,  68  et  seq. 

a  gift  of  fresh  eggs,  90 

and  a  thermos  flask,  79 

challenged  by  a  sentinel,  98 
"Shepherd  Kings,"  the,  130 
Shetewi,  Ramadan,  120 
Sirhen,  91 
Siwa,  92,  306 

wanderings  through,  309 


INDEX 


355 


Slave  tarms,  213 

trade,     stringent     French    law 

against,  213 
Slavery  in  the  East,  39 
Slaves,  smuggled,  109 
Smoking  prohibited  by  the  Sen- 

ussi,  4,  14,  220,  308 
Snakes,  fearsome,  235 
Soluk,  7,  63 

Squaireen,  Sheikh  Musa,  ix,  176 
Stecker,  surveyor  to  Rohlfs'  expe- 
dition, ix,  16 
Stockley,  Cynthia,  58 
Sudan,  the,  Senussi  influence  in, 

119 

Sudanese,  quixotic  valour  of,  166 
ruthlessness  of,  83 
tiffs  with  theBeduins,  130,  135, 

151 

voracious  appetite  of,  51 
Sudani  slaves  of  Zuruk,  211 
Suleiman  Bu  Matar,  Sheikh,  206, 

207,  218 

as  guide  and  host,  230,  231,  241 
on  the  Mahdi,  228 
Suleiman   (the  guide),  230,  241, 
244,  252  et  seq.,  260  et  seq., 
271  et  seq.,  285  et  seq. 
a  remarkable  feat  of,  279 
loses  a  leather  bag,  276,  277 
Surur,  225 

TABAWAYEIN,  the,  houses  of,  154 
Taiserbo,  15,  91 

a  start  for,  126  et  seq. 

Madeni  at,  158 

Moraja's  opinion  of,  144 

reached  by  Rohlfs,  17 

Rohlfs  and,  154,  156 

topography  of,  157 

villages  of,  157 
Taj,  16,  177 

a  council  at,  204  et  seq. 

city's  formal  farewell  to  author, 
240 


Taj,  exploration  of,  222 

first  sight  of,  191 

flight  from,  222  et  seq. 

fortress  sanctuary   of,  and   its 
builder,  228 

meaning  of,  214 

qubba  of  Sidi  el-Mahdi  at,  191 

translation  of  Arab  document  of 

welcome  given  at,  336-337 
Talakh,  a  visit  to,  214 
Tawati  Halfan,  208 
Tazerr,  211 

Tea-drinking,  ceremony  of,  71 
Tebu  camels,  thin  coats  of,  242 

houses,  exploration  of,  161 

oasis,  Hornemann  on,  174 

ruined  villages  and  houses,  15, 
154,  157,  210,  218,  223 

tombs,  154 

village,  visit  to  a,  220 
Tebus,  tribe  of,  91,  151 

ousted  from  Kebabo,  15 

their  old-time  sultanate,  205 
Theft,  punishment  for,  227 
Thermos  flask,  a,  in  the  desert,  78 
Tobruk,  120 
Tolab,  158,  192 

gardens  of,  236 

why  so  named,  214 
Tolelib,  158,  192,  233,  236 
Treachery,  punishment  for,  227 
Tribal  bands,  savage,  91 
Tripolitania,  16 

Italians  at  bay  in,  120 
Tuaregs,  the,  20,  52,  104 

slave  farms  of,  213 
Tuggourt,  52,  219 
Tunisi,  157 

UAU,  Szerir,  16 
VITA,  General  di,  ix,  $ 

WADAI,  desert  of,  14 

Mahdi  institutes  regular  cara- 
van route  to,  228 


356  THE  SECRET  OF  SAHARA:   KUFARA 


Wadai,  Senussi  influence  in,  119 
Wadi  Farig,  58,  55,  73,  81,  132, 

133 
Wajanga,  35,  220-221 

translation  of  original  letter  of 
Sidi  Ben  Ali  to  people  of, 
338-340 

Washing-day  in  the  desert,  a,  121 
Wells,  "miraculous"  discovery  of, 

by  the  Mahdi,  228 
Wilhelm  I  sends  a  scientific  expe- 
dition to  Libya,  16 
(cf.  Rohlfs) 

YADEM  Bu  Gemira,  Sidi,  295 
Yusuf  el  Hamri,  acts  as  guide  to 

Jaghabub,  297  et  seq. 
an  unfortunate  remark  by,  and 

its  sequel,  130 
and  the  Zouias,  264 
as  cook,  284 
becomes    an    unexpected    ally, 

173 

discerns  a  caravan,  96,  256 
entrusted  with  care  of  author,  x, 

35 

his  guiding  star,  48,  55  et  seq. 
his  partiality  for  "asida,"  267, 

282 

his  solicitude  at  Hassanein's  ac- 
cident, 302,  303 
in  a  cheerful  mood,  275,  278 
in  a  reflective  mood,  129 
introduced  to  author,  47 
longs  for  a  wife  or  two,  254, 

255 
makes  "asidas"  in  the  sand  for 

tired  camels,  275 


Yusuf  el  Hamri,  offers  the  fifouia 

olive  branch,  184 
says  his  morning  prayers,  273 
shaves  Mohammed,  292 
stirs  himself,  114 
wakes    author    for    dinner    at 
Jaghabub,  295-6 

ZAIZEB,  304 

Zakar,  a  gruesome  zariba  at,  262 

Zakar- Jaghabub  route,  the,  254 

Zakar-Siwa  route,  the,  254 

Zakar  well,  the,  262-3 

Zarrug,  ix,  182 

Zawias,  how  they  retain  hold  of 

their  pupils,  299 
Zeinab,   the  slave-girl,   117,   118, 

121,  130,  184,  193 
Zieghen,  15,  91 
Zieghen  route,  the,  landmarks  of, 

255 
Zouias,   the,   a   characteristic   of, 

251 

apologise  to  Hassanein,  184 
appearance  of,  180 
Hawarian,  177 
of  Buseima,  91,  143 
of  the  "cities"  of  Kufara,  203 

et  seq. 

ousted  from  Kebabo,  15 
voluntary  submission  to  Sid  Ben 
Ali  es  Senussi,  150,  205,  207 
wealth  of,  74 
Zuetina,  9 

Zuruk,  17,  158,  192 
a  visit  to,  211 
why  so  named,  214 


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